


Blood Brothers

by Spiral_Rush



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Gen, Memory Alteration, Mind Manipulation, Sexual Harassment, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 22:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19473799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiral_Rush/pseuds/Spiral_Rush
Summary: When eleven-year-old Billy Russo arrives at his new group home, he meets two people who will change his life: Frank Castle, who becomes his best friend, and Arthur Walsh, who becomes the monster in his nightmares.***Frank asked, "You have any brothers or sisters?""No." Billy tensed. This had been in the back of his mind all day, the inevitable family conversation. He'd have to admit he didn't have one and then things would get uncomfortable. Why did people always want to know who everybody was related to? Couldn't they just accept him on his own?Frank said, "I don't either."If Billy kept Frank talking about himself, he wouldn't have to answer any questions. "You want a brother or a sister?""I always wanted a brother.""Why?""It'd be nice to have someone else around. My parents work a lot. The hospital Mom's at is short-staffed and she takes extra shifts. Dad has his own business. He's a plumber. So he's always busy with that."Frank sounded like he was lonely. Billy hadn't thought people with families got lonely.





	1. The Catch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy meets a boy named Frank.

Billy arrived at Ray of Hope two weeks before school started. 

This time, he hadn't been relocated because of something he did. Somebody discovered that the building his old home was in had asbestos and so everybody had to be moved on short notice. He overheard the state inspector talking to the home's manager about cancer, so it must be serious.

There were already five other kids in the new place but he wasn't sure he would be friends with any of them. 

Jason and Jamal were twins and had been exposed to vampire blood before they were born. The two of them were always together and didn't talk much to anyone else. On the first night, Billy learned that they sometimes had nightmares that would wake everyone else up.

Juan spent most weekends with his grandparents. He claimed his mother had been a real witch, a _bruja_ he called her, who died in an epic battle with an evil wizard. Billy doubted that. Kids were always saying they or their relatives had magic when they didn't. Juan's grandmother had heart problems and his grandfather had a stroke, which was why he lived at the home during the week. 

Billy was a little jealous of Juan. His grandparents wanted to take care of him, they just couldn't because they were old and sick.

Vincent had been in this home for years and was a great source of information about everybody who lived or worked in it. He was friendly but weird and spent all his time drawing. His room was covered in pictures of cartoon characters and motorcycles and cartoon characters on motorcycles. Vincent had a little magic but the only thing he could do was make his drawings glow in the dark. Which did look pretty cool but was not useful enough to get him enrolled in one of the programs to train kids who had magical talents.

Billy didn't have any magical talents.

There was also Tommy. Billy tried talking to him but he was fourteen and starting high school and he made it clear being friends with an eleven-year-old was beneath him. 

Billy didn't really fit in with this group and he wondered how long he would have to be here.

On the weekend after he arrived, he went out for a walk around his new neighborhood. The area around Ray of Hope seemed familiar, even though he'd never been here before. There was a pawn shop, a Chinese takeout place, a magic store advertising protection charms for reasonable prices, and lines of row houses, many of which had peeling paint or broken steps in the front. Billy kept walking, following side streets randomly.

It didn't take very long for him to wander into a nice neighborhood. It was like passing from his world into another that was similar but slightly off even though there was no magic involved.

The houses here had a couple of feet of space between them and tiny patches of lawn in the front and/or back. Most of them had flowers somewhere in pots or planted in the ground. There were swing sets and kiddie pools and basketball hoops. Kids ran around laughing and yelling. Everything was neat and clean and full of nice people with nice families, nice children.

Billy had the urge to throw rocks through the windows.

One of the houses, which had a pot with several tall orange flowers by the front door, was for sale. Billy wondered how much the house cost. He tried to imagine buying a house. How did people even do that? It wasn't like there was a store where you could go and pick one out.

The day was hot so the windows were open and Billy could hear people talking inside. He'd gotten in trouble for eavesdropping on adults in his last placement but he couldn't help himself. It was the way you found out what they really thought.

He walked across the grass and stood beside the window where no one inside would see him unless they stuck their head out of it.

A woman was talking about the kitchen. Granite countertops were very important to her, why he had no idea. 

A second woman told her it was easy to remodel a kitchen but that finding a house in a neighborhood this nice within their budget was nearly impossible.

This conversation was boring. Billy was about to leave when a man said, "I heard that there's a group home near here. You know, like for," he paused, "troubled kids."

The second woman said, "Oh, it's not actually _near_ here. It's all the way over on Burgess Avenue."

Billy thought that Ray of Hope was not that far. He'd just walked here from there.

The man asked, "Do those kids cause problems?"

The first woman said, "Leonard, they're just children."

"They could be teenagers," the man replied. "How old are they?"

The second woman didn't know. Billy could have told her how old everyone was.

The man said, "Look, we have children. And we don't want them falling in with a bad crowd."

"You sound like my father," the first woman said.

"These kids are in a group home for a reason. Families can't handle them."

There was a discussion of exactly how far away the bad kids would be from their precious children and whether that was far enough. 

Billy wondered what they would do if they knew there was one of those kids outside the house right now. Would they call the police? Would they feel sorry for him or at least pretend to? Would they act like he wasn't even there?

The first woman said, "Leonard, honestly, you're making way too big a deal out of this."

"They could be involved with drugs, Sasha."

Billy had enough. He stalked away from the window. As he passed by the front door, he grabbed the flower pot and smashed it onto the brick walkway then ran like hell.

He zigzagged through a few alleys before slowing to a walk. This was what this place was like, full of rich assholes and their rich asshole kids. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep himself from doing something that would get him in trouble, like stealing a bike or punching a random kid.

Billy kept going, nowhere particular, just walking until his rage simmered down. Eventually, he rounded a corner and saw a park. It wasn't that big but there were paths for people to walk along, a swing set and monkey bars, and a baseball diamond in one corner. 

There was a game going on, a bunch of kids his age. Parents watched, sitting on a row of bleachers or in lawn chairs. Little kids ran around chasing each other, not interested in the game. The players had uniforms and gloves and nice-looking bats. Everybody wore a helmet. The catcher even had a full face mask. Nobody wanted their kid getting a tooth knocked out.

Billy sat down on the edge of the bleachers to watch. He wondered if that couple's kids played baseball. If they did, he was sure he was better than them.

These kids playing were not good: so many missed catches, so many wide throws, so many strikeouts. Most of them had no idea what was happening and the coaches had to shout instructions for everything. He was pretty sure one kid who played third base didn't even know the rules. If he could play, he would show them how to do it.

The only one who seemed to know what he was doing was the shortstop for the team in blue. But he couldn't make up for everybody else screwing up and things weren't going well for them.

A kid on the white-uniformed team actually got his bat on the ball pretty good but it went foul. The baseball soared over the head of a woman sitting on a blanket with an infant, heading straight for Billy. He hopped up, caught it at the top of his jump, then threw it back toward the field when he landed.

People clapped for him. A middle-aged man in a yellow polo shirt said loudly, "Attaboy." Billy grinned and waved at his admirers.

The shortstop caught the ball in a dive, then stood and gave him a thumb's up.

Billy sat back down, pleased.

The game ended, the white team having won. He stayed where he was for a while, watching parents meet up with their kids. There was chatter around him, plans to go out to dinner, to go to friends' houses, to go to the movies. 

He wondered what they would do if they knew there was a kid from the group home sitting with them. One who could play better than any of their kids could, too.

The shortstop in blue who caught his ball trotted up to him. "Nice catch," he said.

"You, too."

The kid looked at him for a second. "I haven't seen you around before. Are you new here?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Frank Castle."

"Billy Russo."

"You play?"

"Yeah."

"You want to get together and practice sometime?"

Billy smiled. "Yeah." The kids he was living with now either weren't interested in sports or didn't want to hang out with him, so why not?

Frank nodded. "Okay."

A man came up behind Frank and told him it was time to go. 

"See you around, Billy."

Frank walked away with the man, who could have been an uncle or a stepdad or just his mother's current boyfriend. But Billy figured he was probably Frank's actual dad given the kind of neighborhood this was. 

He would like to hang out with Frank. But he wondered what Frank's parents would do if a kid from the group home actually showed up to play baseball with their son.


	2. The Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy gets to know Frank and meets a man named Arthur.

The next time Billy saw Frank Castle was on the first day of school.

Billy walked alone down the hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder. He didn't know _anybody_ here. Kids who'd obviously gone to school together before formed up into groups, laughing, talking, and hugging all around him. Every single one looked middle-class, with perfect new clothes, and bags, and expensive sneakers. Which was to be expected, given the neighborhood. There were just so many of them and only one of him. It made him a little uncomfortable. 

He was the only one from Ray of Hope going to this school. Tommy and Vincent had started high school. Juan attended a preppy Catholic school on a scholarship. And Jason and Jamal were in a program for kids with learning disabilities.

Billy shifted his backpack closer to himself to make sure the safety pins he'd used to close a hole in the side weren't visible. He reminded himself that he'd made friends at all of the previous schools he'd gone to. There was a process to it. Find a group that looked welcoming and talk to them. Smile and be funny. Pay attention to what went on around you. Be nice enough that people would like you but not too nice. If you had to fight someone, don't do it where adults could see. And always hit them harder than they hit you.

The thing about being different from the other kids was that even if he did everything right, things could go badly. When he arrived at a new school in the middle of third grade, his teacher had introduced him to the class as a foster kid. That had painted a target on his back and he got in a fight before the end of his first day, which of course everyone blamed him for. He'd had to work really hard to make any friends there.

Fortunately, none of his other teachers had been that stupid. If he had a choice, he wouldn't tell anyone about living in a group home, especially not these kids.

No one paid much attention to him as he navigated the corridors except for a few girls who looked at him oddly. One girl stared at him, then tugged on her friend's arm and _pointed_ at him. He quickly walked away, wondering what their problem was.

He managed to find his homeroom. Outside of it, someone called his name. He turned around and there was Frank from the baseball game. 

Billy smiled, glad to see him. He knew one person. That was a start.

He and Frank had most of their classes together, which made it easy for Billy to stick with him and get introduced to his classmates. Billy's impression was that Frank could get along with people but was not really popular. There was something about him, a kind of intensity, that made him not quite fit in with the rest of these soft, sheltered kids. Billy couldn't put his finger on it and it made him want to know more about Frank. Maybe he was a foster kid himself? 

At lunch, they sat with a few of Frank's baseball teammates, who remembered the catch Billy had made at that game. The topic of conversation was one of their teammates having his appendix removed the previous week. Everyone was eager to see the surgery scar when he came to school.

One of the boys was talking about a cousin who'd had gruesome complications from an appendix removal when the girl who'd pointed at Billy in the hallway earlier and her friend sat down at the next table. Billy could feel them watching him like a couple of hungry wraiths. Then they started whispering.

He leaned close to Frank and asked quietly, "Why are those girls looking at us?" Billy felt weird saying he thought they were looking at him specifically.

Frank turned to the girls and asked, "Why are you looking at us?"

Billy put a hand over his face.

"We are _not_ looking at you," the girl who pointed said.

Her friend added, "Oh, my God. Why would we look at you?"

"I don't know," Frank said. 

"Well, we weren't looking at _you_ ," the first girl said.

Frank turned back to Billy and shrugged. The girls got up and walked off. The boys from the baseball team looked very confused.

"She was looking at me earlier," Billy said. "She pointed at me. She wouldn't point at me if she wasn't looking at me, right?"

Frank shrugged again. The conversation about sepsis resumed. Billy wondered, again, what that girl's problem was.

When school let out, Billy walked outside with Frank. There was a line of parents in cars waiting to pick up their kids. 

Frank asked, "Your mom here to get you?"

"No. I'm just going to walk."

"Me, too," Frank said. "My mom's still at work. She's a nurse."

So Frank wasn't a foster kid. They left the parking lot together. At the corner, as they waited for the crossing guard to stop traffic, Frank asked, "Do you have to be home right away?"

"No." 

Dinner was at six and he had to be in his room by nine but otherwise, he didn't have much of a schedule. There were supposed to be after school and weekend activities but the woman who used to run those had quit a while ago and never been replaced, according to Vincent. 

"Want to come over to my house?" Frank asked.

"Sure."

Frank did not live very far from the school. The house looked like the others in the neighborhood, neat and nice, with light gray paint. Frank lead him around the side past a car underneath a tarp. "That's my Dad's," he said. "He fixes up old cars sometimes. It's like a hobby."

The house was just as neat and nice inside. Frank went to the bathroom, leaving Billy alone in the kitchen. The fridge door had a photo on it of Frank, the man Billy saw him with at the baseball game, and a woman who was probably his mother. They were standing on a patch of sunny grass, smiling. Billy noticed that Frank's parents both had graying hair.

Next to it was a folded piece of paper with a heart drawn on it held up by a magnet shaped like a banana. Billy opened it and read it.

_Frankie, I hope you had a great first day at school. We're having pizza tonight. Love, Mom._ There was a little pair of lips underneath for a kiss.

Footsteps approached and Billy quickly put the note back. Frank pulled it off the fridge door.

"What does it say?" Billy asked. He just wanted to see what Frank would say.

Frank read the message out loud with a slightly disgusted tone. "My mom's so embarrassing. She leaves things like this for me all the time."

Billy had the urge to grab the paper out of Frank's hand and tear it up. He didn't. 

Frank put the note back up on the fridge and pointed to Billy's backpack, which hung off the back of a chair. "I have upholstery glue you can use for that hole," he said. 

Billy looked at Frank. Was Frank insulting him by bringing it up?

"Actually, it's my dad's glue," Frank added. "I accidentally tore a hole in my bag last week and I glued it shut so my mom wouldn't find out. She gets so mad when I damage stuff." He opened a cupboard and pulled out a box of chocolate cookies. 

Billy decided that wasn't an insult. Frank offered him some cookies and he accepted. 

Frank said, chewing, "But you can use the glue if you want."

"Okay," Billy said.

Frank got the bottle and Billy emptied his bag and removed the safety pins. He pinched the fabric in place while Frank squeezed the smelly, transparent glue onto it. 

"There," Frank said when he was done. He set Billy's American history textbook on top of the repair to press it down and nodded slightly. "Good as new." 

He reminded Billy of that middle-aged guy on the home improvement show his former foster dad liked to watch. Frank was a little weird but Billy was starting to kind of like him.

While the glue dried, they went out into the backyard. Frank got his glove and bat and they took turns throwing some pitches. Frank was better at hitting than pitching. Billy relaxed as they played, feeling in his element. He booed loudly when Frank missed an easy pitch. When he dropped a catch, Frank booed him back. That led to them taunting each other, then eventually dropping their gear and chasing each other around the yard, yelling and laughing.

It had been a while since Billy'd had this much fun.

When they were both sweating, they took a break and sat in the shade by the side of the house. Ants crawled over Billy's legs and he crushed them. 

Frank wiped his forehead and asked, "You have any brothers or sisters?"

"No." Billy tensed. This had been in the back of his mind all day, the family conversation. Why did people always want to know who everybody else was related to?

"I don't either."

He wanted to keep Frank talking about himself. "You want a brother or a sister?"

"I always wanted a brother."

"Why?"

"It'd be nice to have someone else around. My parents work a lot. The hospital Mom's at is short-staffed and she takes extra shifts. Dad has his own business. He's a plumber. So he's always busy with that."

Frank sounded like he was lonely. Billy didn't think people with families got lonely.

"A sister'd be okay too," Frank added.

A car door slamming nearby interrupted them. Frank checked his watch. "That's my mom."

Billy hadn't expected to meet Frank's mother. So far he'd avoided having to tell anybody where he lived but she would probably ask. Adults usually did. It was too bad. He'd been having a good time so far.

Frank went into the house and Billy followed. Mrs. Castle was in the kitchen, taking groceries out of a bag. She wore green scrubs, her gray-streaked hair done up in a bun. She hugged and kissed Frank and he tried to wriggle away from her. "Mom!"

"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" she asked, smiling at Billy.

Frank did. He told her about the catch Billy had made at the ball game. 

"I'm sorry I missed it," she said.

Frank replied, "That's okay. We lost."

Billy sat at the kitchen table examining his repaired backpack while they chatted about the first day of school. He felt like he was watching a documentary on TV, _How Middle-Class Mothers Treat Their Sons_.

Eventually, she turned her attention to him. "Do you live far, Billy?"

He was intentionally vague about exactly where he lived. "I don't know the streets very well yet," he said, which was true.

"Well, I'd like to meet your parents," she said.

His stomach dropped. 

_Look, we have children. And we don't want them falling in with a bad crowd._

He wouldn't come over to Frank's house again once he told her. 

Billy looked at Frank across the table. He didn't know if they would be real friends yet but he had a feeling they could be. And he was tired of people judging him and pitying him, of people acting awkward and guilty and weird around him.

Inspiration flashed in Billy's head. Before he had a chance to think about it too much, he said, "I live with my grandmother."

He was stealing Juan's story. Well, not the part about his mother being a witch. And he left out the grandfather because it seemed simpler. Living with your grandmother because your parents died was sad but the kind of thing that could happen to a normal kid, the kind of thing that wouldn't freak somebody like Mrs. Castle out. Not like being abandoned by your mother at a fire station, which always got him uneasy looks. Billy was pretty good at lying but he didn't think he could pull off pretending to have parents.

"Oh," Mrs. Castle said. 

"She doesn't feel well a lot of the time so I don't know when she'd be able to meet you."

"I understand, Billy." She gave him a reassuring smile.

He had an instinct that he should leave before Mrs. Castle could ask questions and so said he should get home.

Frank walked out of the house with him. "I didn't know you lived with your grandma."

Billy shrugged. "I didn't mention it."

"Are your parents dead?"

Billy nodded. They might be for all he knew. He didn't even know his father's name. He knew his mother's but she had vanished. A lot of foster kids knew where their parents were -- Vincent's dad was in prison and his mother was in a psych hospital permanently-- but he didn't. He really was an orphan.

"I'm sorry," Frank said.

"I don't remember them," he said. That was true.

They reached the sidewalk. Frank asked, "You want to come over again tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"See you at school, Bill."

No one had ever called him Bill before. Occasionally, adults called him William when they were mad at him but otherwise, it was always Billy. He kind of liked the way Frank said it.

As he walked home, he worried that lying to Frank and his mom would come back to bite him. He couldn't take it back now so he'd have to make sure they didn't find out. 

***

That evening, a man arrived at Ray of Hope.

Juan was having dinner with his grandparents. The twins had retreated to their room and Tommy was who knew where, so he and Vincent were the only ones in the living room.

Vincent had excitedly told Billy about a volunteer who would come by three or four times a week. He taught at a school in Brooklyn but lived in the neighborhood. Billy hadn't met him yet because he'd gone fishing in the Great Lakes for a few weeks, which he apparently did every summer.

Judging by how Vincent ran and hugged the man when he entered the room, this was him. "Arthur!" Vincent cried.

"Hey, Vince."

"I missed you."

"Sorry I didn't come by earlier." He patted Vincent's shoulder. "School started last week for me and it's been busy. How're you doing?"

Vincent said he was good and that he'd drawn a gift for Arthur. 

The man said, "Wow, I'd love to see that." Then he looked at Billy and paused. "Vince, why don't you go get it?"

Vincent hurried off to his room. 

Arthur smiled and nodded at Billy. "You must be the new boy. Billy, is it?"

Billy was surprised he knew his name. "Billy Russo."

Arthur held out a hand to shake. "I'm Arthur Walsh. Ms. Carmichael told me a little about you."

Billy shook his hand, wondering what the home manager had said. Probably that he was a pain in the ass. People tended to say that about him.

"Oh," Arthur reached into his bookbag. "I brought you something."

Now Billy was really surprised. The man hadn't even met him yet and had gotten him a gift.

"I heard you like baseball."

"Yeah." He loved baseball. But he didn't know Arthur and didn't want to get too close to him yet.

Arthur produced a small box. "When I was your age, I used to collect baseball cards. I don't know if you do but..."

He held the box out and Billy took it. It was the current season's Topps cards.

Billy didn't really collect anything. He moved too often for that.

Arthur continued, "I always liked opening the packets not knowing which player was inside. It was like having little Christmas presents to open throughout the year."

"I can keep these?"

"Yeah." Arthur chuckled. "I hope you like them."

Billy liked the idea of having a present to open every day. There were fourteen individually wrapped cards in the box. That was a present a day for two weeks. "Thanks," he said.

"Listen, I go to games all the time. I could take you to one sometime if you like."

Billy shrugged, although he did very much want to go. He'd never been to a Major League game.

Vincent pounded down the stairs. 

Arthur said, smiling, "Well, I am happy to meet you, Billy."

"It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Walsh."

"Please call me Arthur."

Arthur turned his attention to a portrait of himself in fishing gear on a boat. 

Billy opened the box and ran his finger over the packets inside, half-listening to the man praise Vincent's drawing. Arthur seemed like he could be cool. 

Living here might not be so bad after all.


	3. The Skull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy sees another side of his new friend Frank.

Billy went to Frank's house after school the next day, and the next, and the next. After a week, Frank stopped specifically inviting him. Billy just came over.

Fortunately, the Castles didn't press the issue of meeting his "grandmother." Frank didn't exaggerate about how much his parents worked. They were both so busy all the time anything which wasn't an immediate priority got set aside. As long as Billy didn't cause any trouble, talking to his alleged guardian wasn't a priority for them. He was so careful to be on his best behavior with Mr. and Mrs. Castle that they started joking about how polite he was.

He and Frank spent most of their afternoons outdoors. They'd play tag or catch or throw frisbees with the other kids who lived on the street, most of whom were their age or younger. One seven-year-old liked to pretend to be a dinosaur, roaring and stomping and waving her arms. Frank would let her tackle him and pretend to bite him, which was always funny. Billy showed her nine-year-old brother how to throw a curveball. The kid looked at him like throwing a pitch was an actual miracle. He liked that a lot.

This was his favorite thing, just running around outside with a bunch of other kids, doing whatever they felt like. Nobody asked him any nosy questions or made any remarks. It was even better with Frank by his side, laughing and yelling.

A week after school started, they went on an expedition to the basement just to see what they could find. The amount of stuff crammed down there amazed Billy. The Castles didn't even seem like the type of people who were really into having a lot of things and they still had so much it was ridiculous. A lot of it was old stuff of Frank's that they hadn't gotten rid of: toddler-sized furniture, ice skates, a rocking horse, a box full of crayon drawings. Billy was kind of jealous. Even when he'd lived with foster families, their stuff wasn't his. He didn't even have a baseball glove.

Some of the more useful things they unearthed included a volleyball and net, tennis rackets, a soccer ball, and a set of boccie balls. But the best find was the super soakers.

"Mom and Dad always told me they couldn't find these," Frank said. "But they were right here." He gestured to a shelf underneath the basement stairs.

The two of them had a running water gun battle that ranged over the surrounding three blocks. Billy climbed a tree and got Frank with a head shot. Not knowing when to stay down, Frank returned fire and sprayed him all along his legs. Then a Pomeranian chased Frank out of its territory, yipping at his heels. Billy jumped down from his perch and followed, shooting Frank in the back. Frank ducked behind a fire hydrant, turned, and got Billy right in the face. The little dog continued barking until they moved on to the next street.

When they returned to the house, soaked with water and sweat and coated in grass and dirt, Mrs. Castle was not pleased. She wouldn't let them in until they'd toweled the worst of the muck off. 

"You remember," she said to Frank while he wiped his face, "the time you knocked Mr. Lombardi's hat off his head? I had to convince him not to call the police."

"I didn't do it on purpose," Frank said. When she turned to go inside, he whispered to Billy, "It was a really good shot. I hit him from like twenty feet."

"I heard that. And _you're_ washing those clothes, Frank."

Billy covered his mouth to muffle his laughter.

Frank showered first. When Billy glanced through the half-open bathroom door, he saw the charm Frank wore around his neck hanging on a hook by the sink. He couldn't help going in for a closer look. Billy had gotten glimpses of it before, flashes of silver and white, the two most common colors for protection charms, but had never seen what it actually was. Frank was always careful to keep it tucked under his shirt.

Most people wore charms to protect against magic and supernatural creatures. Billy had a standard social services issued one, a plain silver medallion on a chain. But Frank's wasn't like anything he'd ever seen. It was a white enamel skull with black stone eyes. There were silver lines marking where the enamel pieces fit together, like the plates of an actual skull, and it was probably solid silver underneath. Even the strap was fancy, a black leather cord braided with thin silver wire. Billy didn't understand why Frank always kept it hidden. If he had a charm that cool, he'd show it off.

Billy brushed the skull with one finger. Cool, hard, and smooth, it felt magical, which not all supposedly magical objects did, almost like it had a pulse. 

The water turned off. Billy quickly took his hand away and exited the bathroom.

After Billy showered, Frank dumped their filthy clothes in the washing machine. Then the two of them went to his room. Billy sat with a towel around his waist while Frank hunted for something for him to wear. It turned out to be more difficult than expected. The t-shirt Frank loaned him hung off his shoulders like a sack. The pair of gym shorts Billy tried on literally fell down, which made Frank laugh hysterically. Billy threw a sneaker at him. Frank ducked and it hit the wall with a thud.

A second later, Mrs. Castle called, "Everything all right in there?"

"Yes," they answered in unison.

When Frank leaned over to look through a lower dresser drawer, the outline of the skull pressing against his shirt from inside was visible. Billy asked, "Where did you get your charm?"

For a second, Frank stopped with his hand in the drawer, looking like he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. Then he shrugged. "It belonged to my great-grandfather. I don't know where he got it. Somewhere in Italy, probably."

"What does the skull mean?"

"Beats me. I think it's just supposed to look scary. You know, like you dress up to scare away evil spirits on Halloween." Frank touched the charm under his shirt like he wanted to make sure it was still there.

"Do you not like it?"

Frank shrugged again. "Some people think it's creepy."

"I think it's cool."

"My first-grade teacher hated it. She had a big argument with my parents over me wearing it. Said it was the sign of a demon." He rolled his eyes. "It's just a charm."

Billy suggested, "You could get something else to wear if you don't like it."

"My parents want me to wear this one."

"Why?"

"They're big on family heirlooms or whatever. I don't know."

Frank clearly didn't want to talk about it so Billy dropped the subject. But Frank was not a good liar. Billy suspected there was another reason Frank's parents wanted him to wear that specific, distinctive charm. 

He wondered if there was a Castle family curse and what it could be. For Frank's sake, he hoped it wasn't anything that bad. Billy would have to keep an eye out for clues to this mystery.

Finally, Frank pulled a pair of sweat pants out of the very back of the bottom drawer and tossed them to Billy, who tried them on. They stopped a couple of inches above his ankles but at least they stayed up. 

Frank snickered. "Those fit me when I was nine."

Billy whipped the towel he'd been wearing at Frank. " _Shut up_."

***

The next time Billy saw the skull charm was a couple of weeks later.

He and Frank had been invited to a birthday party for one of Frank's baseball teammates. They went to the boy's house, which was over on the opposite side of their school from where Frank lived, on a Sunday afternoon. Billy brought a single packet of baseball cards as a gift, something he could afford on the few dollars a week he got for doing chores at the home. (That was Ms. Carmichael's personal cash which she gave out to encourage the residents to take care of the place they lived in. With six kids, she couldn't afford to give much individually. But Billy wouldn't have any money of his own otherwise so he couldn't complain.) 

The party was fun. There were party games in the back yard, followed by pizza, cake, and ice cream. Billy won a bag of mini chocolate bars playing darts, which he stowed in his backpack for later.

It was early evening when they headed back towards Frank's house. As they passed by an empty lot full of tall grass, a whistle pierced the air, followed by, "Hey, girlie." 

Billy stopped, startled, whipping his head in the direction of the comment. There weren't any girls around. But there were three boys, about fifteen or sixteen years old, sitting together on the crumbling foundation of a demolished building. The smell of pot drifted over to Billy on the breeze. The boys were looking at _him_. 

"Oh, shit," the one in the middle said.

The others laughed. The one on the left said, "Dude, you thought _that_ was a girl? How high are you?"

"Kid's got a face like a girl."

The one on the right said, "And the ass of a boy. And no tits because _it's a boy_. Let me just tell you now, he hasn't got a pussy either."

The one on the left added, "He's got a mouth, though."

That made the others laugh raucously. The one on the right called, "Here, pretty boy, here, pretty boy," like he was trying to lure a cat to him. "My friend Chuck here _wants_ you."

"Jesus, I don't want him," Chuck protested. "He just looked like a girl for a second."

Billy's face burned. They reminded him of Paul and Donny, his former foster brothers. He hated them, all of them. Billy looked around for a weapon and spotted a chunk of concrete a few feet away. He imagined smashing it over the head of the boy on the right. His fingers itched to pick it up. 

If he did that, the other two would attack him. That was a fight he couldn't possibly win, even with the boys being stoned. He was young and weak and outnumbered and he _hated_ it.

The two boys on the side whistled shrilly and made loud sex noises while Chuck put his head in his hands. Billy took a step back, ready to bolt, mostly to get out of there before he did pick up that concrete. He was pretty sure they wouldn't follow him. If they were as high as they looked, they wouldn't want to get up and run.

"Shut the fuck up!" Frank yelled.

Billy jumped. He'd forgotten Frank was there. Frank looked like he wanted nothing more than to murder these assholes. That was what Billy wanted too, but neither of them could do it, not even together.

The whistling and noises stopped, replaced by laughter. The one on the left said, "He's jealous we're talking to his lover." He said the last word in a high-pitched, singsong voice.

"Hey, kid," said the one on the right, "I'll let you watch your boyfriend ride my dick, okay?"

Frank stepped forward. Billy grabbed his arm and hauled him back. "Frank, _no_ ," he said quietly.

The boys let out a long, exaggerated, "Ooh." The one on the right asked, "You want to have some fun with us too, huh?"

"Come over here," Frank said, "and _I'll_ have some fun with you."

The boy on the right stood up. 

Chuck said, "Joey, they're like eight. Chill."

Joey approached, ignoring his friend.

Billy tugged on Frank's sleeve. "Come _on_."

"I'm not letting them say that shit to us," Frank muttered.

Joey came to a stop in front of them. The odor of pot intensified. Billy glanced at the piece of foundation laying in the grass again. As soon as Joey made a move, he would grab it, hit Joey, and drag his idiot friend out of here.

But Joey never took a swing. As soon as he opened his mouth to say something, Frank punched him. There was a crunching sound. His head snapped back, blood spurting from his nose. "Fuck!" he yelled, clutching his face.

Billy grabbed Frank's arm and pulled with all his strength. "You made your point. _Let's go_." Joey's friends were currently watching in silent shock but they would recover any second. 

Finally, Frank moved. He and Billy dashed across the street. Curses, shouts, and laughter echoed behind them. 

After several minutes of running with nobody following, they slowed to a walk. "That," Billy said, "was _so_ stupid. But it was badass."

Frank grinned. His charm had escaped from beneath his shirt and the skull grinned as well. Billy wasn't sure if the gleam around it was the contrast of white enamel against black fabric or if the thing was actually glowing. For a second, he would have sworn the eye sockets were staring at him. He understood why people thought it was creepy now. Frank spotted him looking at it and hid it again.

Billy saw blood on Frank's hand and asked, "Did you get hurt?"

Frank wiped it off. "Nah. Do I have blood anywhere else on me?" He angled toward Billy, showing his front.

"No."

"You sure?"

"I think so. You afraid your mom's going to yell at you for ruining your clothes?"

"I don't want my parents to find out I punched somebody. They really don't want me fighting."

"If they heard you broke a high school student's nose, they wouldn't believe it."

"Oh, they'd believe it."

"They would?"

Billy hit much harder than people expected a kid as skinny as he was to be able to. (That element of surprise had won him a few fights.) But he didn't have the power to do what Frank had just done. He felt like he'd gotten a glimpse of that edge that made Frank different from other kids. It called to something similar inside himself, an impulse that he mostly kept hidden. But it was always burning, like a pilot light on a gas stove, waiting for a turn of a knob to ignite.

Frank kicked a pebble down the sidewalk. "I hurt some other kids when I was younger."

"How?"

"I used to fight a lot."

"Why?" Billy had a reputation but honestly when he fought it was almost always because somebody started something with him. He had a hard time imagining anybody starting something with Frank, at least, anybody with half a brain.

Frank shrugged. "I had a temper."

It sounded like Frank was the one who used to start things. Billy was intensely curious about the charm and about the fights. But Frank's expression and posture said he didn't want to talk any more. 

And Frank didn't have to stand up for him back there. Most kids wouldn't. Most adults wouldn't. Those boys had been hassling Billy. They didn't seem to even notice Frank until he spoke up, but he stepped in anyway. So Billy kept his questions to himself.

"But I'm not sorry I hit him," Frank said. "What a bunch of dickheads. I mean, what the hell was that?"

Billy glanced at Frank, who looked genuinely confused. He'd probably never seen anything like this before. Billy said, "They were high."

"How do you know?"

"They smelled like weed."

"Oh. That's what that smell was?"

Billy nodded.

"Where did you smell it before?"

His foster-brothers had come home smelling like that a few times and gotten in a huge amount of trouble for it. He said, "We had neighbors who smoked pot where we used to live."

"It stinks." Frank wrinkled his nose.

"People do and say all kinds of shit when they're high."

"I guess so. You don't even look like a girl."

"Thanks," Billy said sarcastically. He braced himself for a crack about being a pretty boy but it didn't come. 

They continued walking in silence for a little while. Frank looked worried, probably that his parents would find out about him fighting, if you could even call punching someone in the face and running away that. 

He hoped Frank wasn't thinking about the sex comments those boys had made. Billy hated this kind of thing even more than people treating him like a reject because he was an orphan. Now that the adrenaline rush had worn off, he was torn about Frank witnessing it. One on hand, he was happy Frank hit that asshole. But on the other, if Frank saw something like this again, things might get weird. Billy didn't want Frank thinking he needed to be protected. And who would want to be friends with someone who kept having shit like this happen?

Billy dug out the chocolate he'd won earlier and gave Frank a piece. "I won't tell anyone about it if you won't," he said.

Frank nodded and ate the mini-bar. "I won't."

Billy had a chocolate himself. "It's kind of too bad we can't talk about it because it was awesome."

"You're the only person who's ever thought me hitting someone was awesome," Frank said.

"It was. The look on that guy's face when you..." Billy punched the air.

Frank laughed. Billy smiled so much it almost hurt.


	4. The Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy remembers some of his experiences with his former foster-brothers and does a favor for Arthur.

Arthur wasn't able to visit Ray of Hope the first weekend after school started so Billy didn't see him again until the following Saturday. But he thought of Arthur every day when he opened another baseball card just before going to bed. He was disappointed when the box was empty. In a short period of time, it had become a little ritual that he enjoyed, a treat to look forward to at the end of the day. 

When Arthur turned up again, he smiled and said, "Hey, Billy Russo. I didn't see you when I came by Wednesday." Arthur seemed genuinely happy to see him, unlike most of the adults he knew.

"I was at a friend's house," he said.

Arthur fetched the group basketball out of the living room closet. He spun the ball on one finger, showing off. "Want to play?"

Billy grinned. "Sure."

They went outside and played one-on-one for a while. Arthur was surprisingly athletic for a guy as old as he was. (He had to be in his thirties.) He won the first round and they stopped to drink water. It was still pretty hot despite being mid-September. "So how's school been?" he asked.

"Okay."

"You made at least one new friend, right?"

"Yeah."

Arthur kept asking questions, not put off by Billy giving him single words or jokes for answers. Some adults got mad when you didn't immediately tell them everything about whatever they wanted to know, but Arthur just accepted what Billy offered. 

"Sorry," Arthur finally said, "I don't mean to put you on the spot. But I know everybody else here and I don't know you." 

Billy balanced the ball on his index finger and spun it. Arthur smiled and nodded at him. "Nice," he said, then drained the rest of his water. "You can ask me anything you like, you know."

It might piss Arthur off, but Billy decided to go straight for what he wanted to know. "Why do you volunteer here?"

Arthur chuckled and held up a finger. "That's a smart question." 

The answer turned out to be longer than Billy expected and involved God. They started another game during the explanation. The short version was that Arthur was really into religion and wanted to serve God by helping people. Billy listened but he never understood this sort of thing. He was worried Arthur would try to drag him to church like a woman who volunteered at his old group home constantly did. Billy won the second round partly because Arthur was talking so much. When Jason and Jamal came out to join the game, he was glad the conversation ended.

But Arthur didn't bring religion up again. He came by almost every day, sometimes for only a little while, sometimes for hours. Weekday evenings, he offered to help anyone with homework if they needed it. If no one did, he would sit and just talk. Billy often ended up at the kitchen table with him talking about whatever while other boys drifted in and out to get snacks and drinks. Sometimes one of them or Mr. Alvarez, the overnight manager, sat down to join in. Arthur realized Billy liked to read and they talked about books. Both of them tended to like the same mix of things: comics, history, science fiction, and anything funny. Arthur brought him a book based on a true story about a werewolf who was allergic to his own fur, which made Billy laugh out loud. He found himself telling Arthur things he usually didn't tell people. It was nice to have someone to listen to him.

On Friday or Saturday nights, Arthur would usually bring a movie over. He had a pretty good collection, with a lot of Westerns, mysteries, and comedies (including the film version of the story about the werewolf with the unfortunate allergy). Even the old black-and-white stuff that looked like it would be boring turned out to be interesting or funny.

They generally played basketball on Saturday afternoons, with whoever was around joining in. Vincent was the only one who refused to play, preferring to sit on the sidelines and sketch. No amount of teasing him changed his mind. Billy liked it when everyone got together best and there was that feeling of connection when they all had the same goal: winning the game. The downside to everyone going to different schools was that he felt separated from the kids he was living with. But seeing them more often would mean spending less time with Frank, which he wasn't willing to give up.

The more time Billy spent around Arthur, the more he liked the man. He wasn't dumb enough to just trust anyone but Arthur never said or did anything that made him feel weird or uncomfortable. And _that_ had happened to him before so he knew what it was like.

When he lived with his last foster family, the Butlers, there had been an old guy, Mr. Johansson, living down the street who always stared at Billy. The man never talked to him. But whenever he saw Billy, he would actually stop what he was doing, like getting his mail or carrying a bag of groceries home, and stand and _stare_. The expression on his face was creepy, like he was hungry. 

Billy asked Mrs. Butler if he was a ghoul but she said no, he was just a bad man. She didn't explain why he was bad but she would yell at Mr. Johansson if she saw him looking at Billy. She also told Billy never to go inside his house, which wasn't a warning she gave about anyone else. That was one rule Billy had no trouble following.

He stayed away from Mr. Johansson but unfortunately he couldn't always stay away from Paul and Donny. When Billy arrived at the Butler house, he was six, Paul was fifteen, and Donny was fourteen. They treated him like a small animal who was there for their amusement.

The first week, Mr. and Mrs. Butler left him in their care. They hung him upside down over the railing on the second floor. For a split second, they would let go, then catch him, then let go again. Billy saw the shiny hardwood floor beneath him, convinced that any moment he would hit it and die. He screamed and screamed for them to stop, which just made Paul and Donny laugh harder. 

Mr. and Mrs. Butler didn't believe their sons would do such a thing. 

After that, Billy tried hard to never be alone with his foster-brothers. He spent a lot of time playing outside with the other kids on the street. When it was too cold or stormy, he would visit their houses. (That was when he first realized that his being an orphan made normal people uncomfortable.) He started going to the library a couple of blocks away, where he could sit in an out of the way corner for hours if he wanted. He discovered he actually liked reading.

Even when their parents were around, Paul and Donny would find ways to bother him. What he hated most were the jokes about Mr. Johansson. They quickly noticed that he was afraid of the man and made fun of him for it. Then they started saying bizarre things that Billy didn't understand at the time. He knew they were trying to humiliate him but didn't realize until later what it all meant.

He wasn't sure if it was the first time or not, but he remembered Donny saying, "Old Mr. Johansson really likes you. Don't you like him?"

Billy didn't remember if he said no or ignored the question. It didn't matter either way. They kept going.

Paul said, "You know, we could make money just for letting him spend time with you. And I'm sure there's other dirty old men willing to pay for that."

Donny added, "Billy would probably like it."

"What do you think, pretty boy?" Paul asked. "You want to go into business with us?"

Billy did remember Donny trying to stroke his cheek and slapping Donny's hand away. That pissed Donny off. He grabbed Billy's hand and said, "I wasn't going to hurt you, you little shit. But I will now." And then he bent back the fingers until it hurt. Billy clenched his jaw to keep himself from crying out. He didn't want to give Donny the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

After a few seconds, Paul said, "Donny," in a warning tone and his brother let go. Billy waited until the boys left the room to rub his hand.

Him "working" for them became a running joke. They always said they were only kidding but Billy didn't think it was funny. Most of it was all jumbled up in his head but he clearly remembered the two of them debating whether they'd make more money if they dressed him up as a girl and how much to charge for spanking. He had been deeply confused as to why anyone would pay to spank him when that was something adults did to punish kids.

This continued off and on for a long time, months, maybe a year. Eventually, the brothers got tired of it.

When Billy turned nine, Paul offered to teach him to swim. Mrs. Butler thought that was a great idea. Billy didn't want to go but she made him.

The first clue something was up was when Paul insisted on calling a cab despite the pool being only a couple of subway stops away. Before Billy left the house, he picked up a hard, heavy paperweight from Mr. Butler's desk and put it in his pocket.

Paul didn't go to the pool. He took Billy to a stranger's house, a nice-looking brownstone, the kind rich people owned.

When Billy asked who lived there, Paul just said, "A friend of mine who wants to meet you."

"What friend?"

"Just a friend. Stop asking so many questions." By this time, Paul was a senior in high school and worked part-time cleaning at a garage. Why would any of his friends, teenagers or adults, want to meet Billy?

Billy stood at the bottom of the stairs and refused to go up. He didn't know why they were there but he was better off not doing anything Paul wanted him to do.

Paul said, "I spent a lot of time setting this up, so come on." 

"No!" Billy shouted. Paul grabbed his elbow. Billy took the weight out of his pocket and hit Paul in the face, busting his lip. Paul swore at him and he ran. It took him a while to find his way home. By the time he did, Paul was already there and had told his version of the story.

Mr. and Mrs. Butler were _really_ mad. Donny laughed at Paul for getting beat up by a nine-year-old.

A few days later, a social worker interviewed Billy. He tried to explain why he assaulted his foster-brother but he didn't understand exactly what had happened himself. So it came out sounding like Paul had stopped by a friend's house on the way to the pool and Billy hit him in the face with a geode because Billy was a psycho.

She asked if Paul or Donny had ever touched him inappropriately. He knew "inappropriately" meant on his private parts. They hit him a lot but they'd never done that, so he said no.

Then she asked if they'd ever threatened to touch him inappropriately or tried to convince him to touch them. That they hadn't done either. They said a lot of things to embarrass or gross him out but they never threatened to molest him. And he sure as hell never touched them. The idea made him want to throw up.

When her questions were done, she said, frowning, "You can't attack people because you're afraid for no reason." 

He had a reason, he just couldn't explain it well enough. Shortly after the interview, Billy was placed in his first group home.

Now that he was older, he understood what had happened that day. He couldn't prove it, but he knew Paul took him to that house to do sex things with men for money. At the group home, Billy met a kid who'd done that. The boy didn't talk about it but other people did. Everything that Paul said and did suddenly made horrible sense. If Billy hadn't run that day...

If he ever saw Paul again, he would do more than hit him with a rock. 

***

The day after Frank punched that high school kid, Arthur showed up in the early evening limping. 

He explained, "Oh, I tripped on the stairs and sprained my ankle. I broke it years ago and it's never been right since." He sat down on the living room couch heavily. "Sorry. I won't be able to shoot hoops with you for a while."

"That's okay," Billy said. At least Arthur had a good reason for disappointing him.

"You know, I was wondering if you would do me a favor, Billy, since I can't walk so good right now." He shifted on the couch so he could get his foot elevated. "I need someone to walk Baxter for me until I've healed up. It shouldn't be too long. Oh, and I can pay you for your time."

"Sure." Arthur didn't need to pay but since he offered, Billy would take the money.

"How does five bucks a walk sound?"

"Sounds good."

The following day, Billy went to Arthur's house, which was about a ten-minute walk from the group home. Baxter met him at the door, tail wagging furiously. Arthur scratched his ears and showed Billy how to put the leash on so the dog couldn't wriggle out of it. Billy took Baxter on a long ramble, up to the park with the baseball diamond and back. When he returned, Arthur handed him a five-dollar bill. 

He asked, "You thirsty?"

"Yeah."

Arthur waved Billy inside. "Come on in. Oh, and I've got a book you might be interested in. It's about New York gangsters in the '20s."

That did sound interesting. Billy followed him, Baxter trotting by his side.


	5. The Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy accompanies the Castles on a visit to Frank's aunt and uncle.

_Billy was at Frank's house. The two of them moved from the backyard to the living room to the kitchen, playing some sort of game that was familiar but that he couldn't identify at the moment. It didn't really matter what they were doing. He just enjoyed being here._

_Something grabbed his arm and pulled. The room tipped and spun. The table, the black-and-white squares of linoleum, the refrigerator covered with brightly-colored magnets whirled together in a storm. Frank stood in the middle of it all, seeming not to notice. Then he vanished with his house._

_Billy tried to scream. He tried to run, to hit, to kick. Everything was dark and silent and yet he wasn't alone. He needed to get up, get up, get up, before whatever it was found him but no part of his body would move._ Its _footsteps echoed around him, faster, louder, closer._ It _would get him._ It _would..._

Billy's eyes jerked open. He was breathing hard. Everything was dark and silent. 

He rolled onto his side, yanking the sheet off. The cool air felt good against his sweaty body. He lay still, staring at the blinds over the window. A car drove by outside, the headlights momentarily flashing through the gaps. The sound of the engine grounded him. He was alone in his room in his bed. It was just a nightmare. 

Gradually, his racing heart slowed down. His own heartbeat had been what he heard, not the footsteps of a monster. Billy settled on his back, breathing deeply. At least he hadn't woken everyone up screaming like the twins did sometimes. It had been a while since he'd had a nightmare this bad. But that's all it was. He was too old to be afraid of the weird crap that happened in dreams.

Still, it was a long time before he could get back to sleep.

***

On Tuesday during lunch, Frank said, "We're going to visit my aunt and uncle this weekend. Want to come?"

Billy was startled by the sudden, casual invitation. "Where do they live?"

"Upstate, near Poughkeepsie."

"Is it okay if I come?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" 

"Your aunt and uncle don't know me. Maybe they don't want me there."

Frank looked at him like he was crazy and said, "They won't mind. And my parents told me to invite you if I wanted. So do you want to come or not?"

Billy nodded. "Okay."

The boy sitting on Frank's other side, Ryan, said something and Frank turned to face him. Billy sat still for a moment, wondering if he'd agreed to something that could blow up in his face. Would Frank's parents want to talk to his "grandmother" about this? The more time passed, the more he realized lying to the Castles had been a bad idea. But admitting it now would ruin everything. And if they told him he couldn't see Frank anymore...

If he had to back out of the trip, he would. His confidence returned now that he had a plan. There was no need for Frank or his parents to find out.

It turned out there was nothing for him to worry about. The next day, Frank's dad got called to fix a burst pipe at a nursing home, a job which kept him working for 18 hours straight. Then Mrs. Castle had to work two double shifts in a row to cover for a co-worker who had a family emergency. They barely paid attention when he assured them it was fine for him to come. For a couple of days, it looked like there might not even be a trip.

But early Saturday morning, Billy arrived at Frank's house and the four of them set off in the car.

The city turned into the suburbs which turned into the countryside. Buildings got shorter and further apart until they could drive for miles without seeing any at all. Frank's mother pointed out particularly colorful trees, their leaves bright red or orange or gold. There were signs on the state highway advertising autumn events: pumpkin patches, hayrides, apple picking, corn mazes, even a certified haunted house.

Billy had never done any of those things. The two times he'd been outside New York City had been in the summer. When he was seven and eight, he went with a busload of kids and chaperones to a tiny town in central Pennsylvania for a week. Some were in foster care like him but most were just low-income, the Social Services term for poor. The idea was to give these kids a chance to get "fresh air" away from the heat and pollution, to see the countryside and do things they didn't usually get to do. Billy supposed it was kind of like when middle-class families went places like Niagara Falls or Atlantic City or Cape Cod in the summer. 

Getting off the bus, Billy had felt like he'd stepped into a movie. There were Amish people living nearby. The first visit alone, he saw four horse-drawn buggies out on the streets. From the window of the room he slept in, he could see cows on a hillside. The trees and grass were so bright green, it didn't look real. The place blew his mind. Sometimes it was so quiet it was creepy, especially at night. And then in the early, early morning, he'd be woken up by so many birds singing it was almost as loud as a car alarm.

But it was a lot of fun. The family he stayed with both times were never mean to him. The grandfather told him bizarre, funny stories and said it was nice to have someone around who hadn't heard all of them a hundred times. And it was good being with other kids who were like him, just relaxing and enjoying themselves. Everybody left their problems back in New York.

There were a lot of things to do. Billy went fishing. He rode a horse around a field and went down a stream in a canoe, both of which had been exciting. He helped harvest the reddest, best-tasting tomatoes he'd ever eaten in his life. Probably his favorite was shooting cans off of a fence with a BB gun, which he turned out to be _really_ good at. He imagined nailing his foster-brothers in the heads every time he knocked another one down. 

One night on the second visit, his host family made dinner over a fire pit, complete with s'mores. He sat by the flames, watching fireflies light up around him, licking melted marshmallow off his fingers, and wishing he didn't have to go back. Nicole, the family's daughter who was his age, sat next to him. He'd been surprised when she leaned over and hugged him and then kissed his cheek. Her grandfather laughed and winked, and her mother said, "Oh, so cute," and took a picture. He felt vaguely embarrassed, his face warm. But he did like the hug and the kiss. People didn't do that too often.

When he was nine, he had really looked forward to going again. But after the rock incident with Paul, he didn't get another invitation.

***

The town Frank's aunt and uncle lived in wasn't as rural as the one in Pennsylvania. Their house was white and bigger than the Castle's with huge yards in the front and back, complete with half a dozen trees that Frank's mom said grew very tasty apples. When Billy got out of the car, he had that feeling of walking into a movie again. 

Frank's aunt was named Sofia and his uncle was Rocky, a nickname for Rocco. They insisted Billy call them Aunt Sofia and Uncle Rocky, which he felt a little weird about because they weren't his relatives but he didn't argue. They were about Frank's parents' age, he guessed, although it was hard to tell with old people. Uncle Rocky was completely bald.

The hallway inside the front door was lined on both sides with old black-and-white photos of people. He glanced at a few of them and stopped when he saw a boy who looked eerily like Frank. The rest of the group continued further into the house, talking, while Billy studied the picture. A charm hung around the boy's neck, a familiar white skull.

After a few moments, Mrs. Castle came back and stood by him. She pointed to her son's double. "That's Frank's great-grandfather when he was about your age. This was taken in," she squinted at the picture, "1900. His original name was Pietro Castiglione, you know, but he changed it to Peter Castle when he came to the US."

Billy tried out the name Frank Castiglione in his head. "Why?" he asked.

"It was more American, I suppose." She smiled at Billy. "I never met him. But Frank looks just like him, doesn't he?"

Billy wanted to ask her about the skull charm. But that was a subject it seemed no one wanted to talk about and he didn't want to make her mad. So he just nodded.

They went on through the house to a deck in the back. Billy had never thought about it before but he wondered if he had any relatives who looked just like him, his dad or grandfather or uncle or whatever. He guessed he'd never know.

The day was warm and sunny with just enough of a breeze to be refreshing, so it was decided to grill hamburgers and chicken for lunch. Mrs. Castle went into the kitchen to help Aunt Sofia with vegetables while Mr. Castle and Uncle Rocky got everything set up outside. 

Meanwhile, Frank showed Billy around the house. There were a lot of pictures on the walls, paintings and more photos of people. The ones in the living room were in color and included a family portrait of Frank and his parents all dressed up. Frank looked at it and said, "I hate wearing a suit."

"Why?" Billy had worn a hand-me-down suit of Donny's for events sometimes when he lived with the Butlers and he'd come to like it. When he wore it to a holiday church service or a graduation ceremony, adults treated him like he belonged there.

"They're uncomfortable. You can't move around in them," Frank said.

He pointed out his cousins, Sofia and Rocky's daughter and son. She was in the Coast Guard; he was a computer programmer living in California. Frank said, "I don't see them that much. Usually just at Christmas."

While Frank stopped in the ground floor bathroom, Billy looked inside the room next to it since the door was ajar. It was a workshop. In the center was a long table covered with a green cloth and neat stacks of small boxes and trays, plus a complicated-looking lamp with several lights on flexible arms. Two of the walls were lined with shelves and a tall, flat filing cabinet. 

When Frank reappeared, Billy asked, "What's this for?"

"My aunt's a charm smith," Frank said. 

"Really?"

"She used to have a shop in Greenwich Village. She's retired now but she still makes stuff when she feels like it."

Billy peered into the room, his curiosity piqued. "Have you been in here?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go in."

Frank looked at the partially open door and then at Billy. "I've never gone in there without my aunt."

"We'd just look around. I won't touch anything, I promise." When Frank didn't say anything, Billy added, "It just looks _so_ cool."

Frank pushed the door the rest of the way open and they went in. Billy walked around, peering at the boxes on the desk with handwritten labels like "Razors - Purified" and "Rock Salt." Frank stood in the middle of the room, looking uncomfortable, while Billy examined the shelves. They were packed with containers of the raw materials for charm making: wire, thread, crystals, stones, gems, gold and silver ingots, beads, buttons, and more. 

On one shelf, there was a display case full of finished charms. These seemed old. Many had worn spots where they'd been touched repeatedly. There were bracelets, necklaces, rings, brooches, and belt buckles with all kinds of charms: a car, a dog, a sword, a sunflower, an angel, the sun and the moon, even a cupcake.

One, in particular, caught Billy's eye: a miniature revolver on a leather cord. The barrel was silver, the tiny handle pearl. It looked like an old-fashioned gangster gun from one of the movies Arthur showed.

Billy _wanted_ it. He wondered if the case was locked.

" _Billy_." 

He looked up. How long had he been staring at this thing?

Frank said, "My mom's calling us. She wants us to set the table."

Reluctantly, Billy left the room, envisioning the gun charm hanging around his neck.

***

After lunch, Mr. Castle and Uncle Rocky went to the garage to look at a car that Rocky was restoring. Frank wanted to see it so Billy tagged along. Mrs. Castle and Aunt Sofia went down to the apple trees to pick some. 

Billy sat on top of a card table while the Castles admired the vehicle, which Uncle Rocky identified as a '68 Mustang Coupe. Mr. Castle lamented that he hadn't worked on the car he was restoring, a '74 El Camino, in two months. 

Uncle Rocky asked, "When are you going to retire, Mario?"

"Are you kidding? My kid's in junior high. I'm going to retire when I'm a hundred." He laughed and ruffled Frank's hair. 

Billy and Frank exchanged a look. He hadn't thought Frank's dad was retirement old.

Eventually, Billy got bored listening to excruciatingly detailed car talk. He wandered outside and watched the women for a few minutes. Mrs. Castle was up on a ladder, picking apples at the top of the tree. Aunt Sofia stood below, bracing the ladder.

At the moment, everyone was distracted. Billy went back inside to the workshop and stood in front of the charm case. The gun charm hung behind the glass on a hook. He tried the door and it opened.

Telling himself he just wanted to try it on, he picked the necklace up. The charm was heavier than he expected. It had a similar feel to Frank's skull as though there was some subtle energy humming around it. He ran a finger over it and the barrel rotated with a soft click. Billy brushed the trigger, which also moved back and forth. 

This was _amazing_. Had Sofia made this? How was crafting a gun this small with moving parts possible? He put it on and studied it in the mirrored back of the cabinet. This was cooler than Frank's. And it looked right on him. It _felt_ right.

Billy hadn't ever wanted an object as much as he wanted this. He went to the door and looked up and down the hall, listening. Everyone else was still outside. 

A warning that he shouldn't steal from Frank's family sounded in his head. But it couldn't override the urge to take the charm for himself. He couldn't have anything else that he wanted -- a baseball glove or a house that he lived in for real or a mother who left him sappy notes on the refrigerator -- but he could have _this_. There were so many charms in the case Sofia wouldn't even notice it was gone for a while.

He took the necklace off and put it in his pocket, then went back to the garage.


	6. The Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy makes an unexpected discovery while at Rocky and Sofia's house.

When Billy returned, Frank, his dad, and his uncle were _still_ talking about cars. They didn't seem to have noticed he left. Billy sat on the card table again and touched the small charm in his jeans pocket. A small voice nagged that this was a bad idea, that he should go inside and put it back, that he could get caught, but having the charm pleased him so much he just couldn't do that.

It wasn't long before Mrs. Castle and Aunt Sofia came towards the house carrying two large bags full of apples. Uncle Rocky called, "Good yield?"

His wife answered, "We haven't had this many in years." She turned to Mrs. Castle. "You have to take some home, Lou."

Mr. Castle said to his brother, "So when are we getting one of your famous pies?"

Rocky replied, "Is that the only reason you come up here, for pie?"

"That and to check out your latest car," Mr. Castle said. "What, you think I want to see _you_?"

Uncle Rocky held a hand over his heart and shook his head. "My own brother says these things to me."

"I want pie," Frank said. "Please, Uncle Rocky?"

"I want pie, too," Aunt Sofia added. 

"Oh, oh, and me," Mrs. Castle said.

Mr. Castle looked at Billy. "How about it, Billy? Pie?"

"I vote for pie," he said, grinning.

"It's unanimous." Mr. Castle held up his hands. "The people want pie."

Uncle Rocky sighed heavily. His wife kissed his cheek. "You know we love you and not just your pie."

"Speak for yourself," Mr. Castle said.

Rocky took an apple out of the bag Sofia held and whipped it at his brother, who dodged. The group laughed and then trooped toward the kitchen.

***

Mrs. Castle and Sofia asserted that they had done their job by picking the apples, so they got themselves cider and retreated to the deck to sit. Billy and Frank helped Mr. Castle peel apples while Uncle Rocky mixed and rolled out dough. After the assembled pie was put in the oven, the men joined their wives while the boys went to play in the backyard.

Beyond the apple trees, there was a small hill with fallen leaves at the bottom. Frank and Billy took turns running down the slope and jumping into the pile to see who could make the biggest splash. When they got tired of that, they started a game Billy dubbed "leaf shark." This involved one of them hiding in the leaves while the other tried to find him. The goal of the "shark" was to stay hidden until he had a chance to leap out and scare the crap out of the one looking for him. But if the searcher found the shark first, then he got to hide.

They played for a long time, making each other jump and shriek several times. The dry leaves made fantastic crunching noises and when they were done, Billy spent a few minutes just rolling around in them. Warm and out of breath, he sprawled on the hillside next to Frank, whose cheeks were pink. It made him look like a cartoon character.

They brushed leaves off each other's clothes. "When it snows," Frank said, gesturing to the hill, "this is a great place to sled."

"I bet," Billy said. He'd never been sledding outside. Riding a tray down the stairs at his old group home had been fun, although he had gotten in a massive amount of trouble for it.

"Why don't you come here with us for Christmas?" Frank plucked a leaf that Billy had missed out of his hair.

Billy had a vision of himself and Frank sitting on the rug next to a Christmas tree with presents under it. The two of them on a real sled, flying down the hillside. Them throwing snowballs at each other under the apple trees, then going into the kitchen to drink hot chocolate with whipped cream _and_ marshmallows. Everything would be absolutely _perfect_.

"I'd like that," Billy said.

Frank leaned back on his elbows and said, "It'll be fun."

"It'll be _awesome_ ," Billy added. He rolled onto his side and the gun charm dug into his hip. Billy shifted so it wasn't poking him. A realization hit him: Sofia and Rocky weren't going to want someone who'd stolen from them in their house again. 

The part of him that wanted to keep the charm argued that they wouldn't _know_ he took it. But they would suspect that he had. And really, what was he going to do with this thing? He couldn't wear it. If he did, someone would see it eventually. If Ms. Carmichael saw it, she'd think he stole it. If Frank or his parents saw it, they'd realize where it came from. He was sure that Frank at least would have noticed this particular charm when he went into his aunt's workshop. 

If he wanted to come back here, the only thing to do was to put it back before he left. It was too bad. He loved this charm. But keeping it wasn't worth the risk. He had another vision of the entire Castle family being angry at him, of Mr. and Mrs. Castle saying he wasn't allowed to come over anymore, of Frank saying he didn't want to talk to him. He couldn't let that happen.

Mrs. Castle's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Boys, the pie's ready," she called from the top of the hill.

"Yes!" Frank pumped his fist.

"This had better be good pie," Billy said, getting to his feet. He stuck out a hand and Frank took it.

"It's the best," Frank said, grinning and pulling himelf up.

***

Uncle Rocky's pie _was_ the best apple pie Billy had ever had. It didn't take long for six people to demolish it. Mr. Castle joked that they should have asked for two. When Billy was done, he wiped his mouth and excused himself, then headed for the workshop.

The door was still ajar. He paused, making sure everyone was in the kitchen, then slipped inside. His heart beating faster, he opened the display case and took the charm out of his pocket. Billy paused with it in his hand, taking one last look. He spun the tiny barrel. It really was amazing.

"Do you like that old charm?"

Billy whipped around and saw Aunt Sofia standing in the doorway.

 _Shit_. He was standing in her workshop without permission -- well, the door _had_ been open and no one said he _couldn't_ go in -- with one of her charms in his hand. But she didn't look angry. 

Billy realized she didn't know he had taken the charm earlier. So he held it up and, trying to sound casual, said, "This one's really cool. Did you make it?"

"It's not my style." She came into the room and touched the charm, making the tiny gun barrel spin. "But it is an excellent piece of craftsmanship. No, I got this one back in, oh, the early '70s. This guy pawned it to me because he needed money to pay off a debt." She shook her head. "He should have kept it because a week later he died."

"How?"

"He was a small-time gangster wannabe. Got in over his head. And he sold the thing that was protecting from a rival's curse. I actually sold it after he died and several years later it ended up back in my shop. So I sold it again and then, again, the thing gets sold back to me by somebody else. That happens sometimes with charms. You just keep seeing certain ones over and over. Anyway, the third time it came into my hands was via an estate sale and I decided to keep it."

This was turning into an interesting conversation. "I didn't know that happened." 

They started talking about the business of charms. She said, "I'll show you a quick and dirty way to test how strong a charm is."

Billy watched closely as she took an eyedropper out of a drawer and held it over the gun charm. "This is just water," she said and released a drop onto the revolver. It didn't touch the silver itself but rolled over the top of it and fell away, like there was a little umbrella over the charm.

"Wow," Billy said.

She smiled. "Water wears away magic eventually so you should try not to get any magical object wet too often. But any well-made charm that's supposed to be worn day-to-day will be water-resistant. Otherwise, you'd have to get it recharged every time you got caught in the rain. And who has time for that? If it's gotten weak, the water resistance is one of the first things to go."

Aunt Sofia handed him the eyedropper. He held it over his own amulet and let a single drop fall. Instead of hitting an invisible barrier, it landed directly on the silver. 

"Oh," she said. "That's not good." She took his necklace and tested it again with the same result.

Worry needled Billy. How long had he been walking around with a defective charm? He didn't think anything was likely to happen to him, but it was like discovering the lock on your bedroom window didn't work. Once you knew, you started thinking about something climbing through it.

She lay the amulet on her desk and ran another test that involved surrounding it with metal filings and sprinkling dark red powder on it. When nothing happened, she said, "Well, I'm sorry to say your charm is inert. When was the last time it was checked?"

Billy had no idea. He'd gotten the thing a year ago and no one had done anything with it in that time.

"I could fix it for you," she said, "but it'll take a while, a week at least."

If he left it here, he'd get in trouble. It would be better to just tell Ms. Carmichael it didn't work. "I can get another one," he said.

She cleaned off the powder and peered at it through a magnifying glass. "Ah, this is from the state of New York."

Billy had a moment of panic. Could she tell he got it from Social Services? Could she trace it to the group home somehow? He asked, "How do you know?"

"Serial number on the edge," she said. 

"What does it tell you?"

"Oh, just that this was manufactured for the state. They give them out to a lot of people, National Guard members, state employees. I've seen a lot of them over the years. But government-issued charms are never that good because they use the cheapest materials they can get." 

Embarrassment rushed through Billy, followed quickly by irritation. It wasn't his fault he had a crappy protection charm. He didn't have the money to buy a fancy one like the kind Sofia had.

She went on a short rant about metal purity. He focused on the gun charm sitting on her table, willing himself to calm down. She didn't know exactly where he'd gotten his amulet.

"But I am totally boring you," she said finally, standing up.

Billy would be glad to get out of this room. He'd done what he came to do, return the gun charm. And he learned that he needed to get his necklace replaced. It not working really wasn't his fault; he hadn't done anything to it.

Aunt Sofia picked up the tiny revolver. "Here," she said, holding it out to him, "you can borrow this until you get yours sorted out."

He stared at her. "Really?"

"Of course. If you were my son, I wouldn't want you walking around unprotected."

He took the charm and put it on, not believing his luck. At the moment, he didn't even care that she wanted it back later. Maybe she'd change her mind and let him keep it.

Frank appeared in the doorway. "Bill, we're getting ready to leave soon."

Billy showed him the charm. "Isn't it cool?"

"Yeah." Frank touched it, pressing it slightly into Billy's chest. "I always liked that one."

Aunt Sofia said, "It's on loan to Billy until he gets his fixed."

"What happened to yours?" Frank asked.

Billy shrugged. "Magic wore off, I guess."

The three of them returned to the kitchen. Both Billy and Frank were reluctant to leave, but it was a two-hour drive and the sun was low in the sky. It was generally safe to travel at night, especially by car, but the Castles wanted to be on the road before dark.

Mr. Castle loaded a bag of apples in the trunk and everyone said their goodbyes. Aunt Sofia hugged Frank then said, "We're very happy to meet you, Billy." And she held out her arms to him. 

For a moment, he didn't move. Then he leaned forward into the hug. A moment and it was over, and Aunt Sofia and the other adults started discussing when the Castles would visit next. Billy could sort of still feel her arms around him, like warmth lingering after you've taken off a coat.

Uncle Rocky said, "And you're welcome to come back any time, Billy."

He nodded. There was a lump in his throat that was difficult to clear, which was a little embarrassing. But it had been a really good day and he couldn't help it. He was just glad he didn't start crying.

Once everyone was back in the car, Billy realized he'd missed a chance to ask Sofia about the skull charm. He'd been so focused on almost being caught and then finding out his own amulet wasn't working, he hadn't even thought of it.

***

Billy woke up.

For a second, he didn't know where he was. He felt a strap over his chest restraining him and moved to pull it off. Then he saw Frank, face turned to the window, sitting next to him and remembered. They were in the back seat of Frank's parents' car on the way back from Poughkeepsie. He was fine. 

Billy yawned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let himself fall asleep around other people but he was just so tired. The nightmares had continued all week, the same dream of him lying paralyzed in the dark while some stupid monster chased him. He was sick of it and wished whatever it was would just eat dream-him and go away.

The radio was on, tuned to a playoff baseball game. Billy listened, yawning again. The announcer reporting balls and strikes during a long at-bat was soothing. He closed his eyes and dozed off once more.

Billy woke up again during a break for the news. There had been a berserker massacre in Georgia, eleven killed and five wounded by an unarmed attacker. The station was abruptly switched while the fast-talking reporter was in mid-sentence. Rock music suddenly filled the car. Mrs. Castle said something that Billy didn't catch.

He opened his eyes. Frank leaned against the window, looking unhappy, a sharp contrast to how he'd been all day. Billy had the feeling he'd missed something while he was asleep. He reached over and touched Frank's hand, asking quietly, "You okay?"

Frank nodded without looking at him. Billy yawned loudly and Frank turned his head and smirked. He asked, "You need a nap?"

Billy leaned over and bumped Frank's shoulder, then rubbed his head on it. "I've got a pillow right here."

Frank pushed him off. Billy pushed back. Things quickly escalated into a seat-belted wrestling match. Billy had longer arms and Frank wasn't in a position to use his weight advantage effectively, so Billy was winning. But then Frank kicked his dad's seat and Mr. Castle said, "Boys, _stop_."

The first warning didn't work so after a few seconds, he repeated with tension in his voice, "Stop. I mean it."

They withdrew to their respective sides of the car for a few moments. When Billy leaned over again and rested his head on Frank's shoulder, Frank didn't push him away. He felt the charm Aunt Sofia had given -- okay, technically, loaned -- him settle on his chest and smiled. 

Billy let himself doze again, head resting against Frank.


	7. The Outlaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While out with Frank, Billy runs into someone he knows.

During the last few days of September, Billy had several long discussions with Frank about what to wear for Halloween. They both liked the idea of dressing up together but had trouble deciding what they should be. Frank rejected pirates because he didn't like them. When Billy pressed as to why, Frank admitted that the cartoon of Treasure Island had freaked him out when he was little. (Billy did try not to laugh but he couldn't help it.) Billy rejected soldiers because he wanted to be something cool. And they both agreed that there would be a ton of people dressed as superheroes and wanted to be something different.

Finally, they settled on Wild West outlaws. (That was one of Billy's suggestions, partly inspired by the new gun charm he had.) But then they had another disagreement about which outlaws. Frank wanted to be Butch Cassidy because he liked the movie but Billy wanted to be Billy the Kid and not the Sundance Kid. After a couple of days of frustrating back-and-forth, Frank finally agreed.

The first Saturday in October, the two of them went to a costume shop that had opened for the month in an otherwise empty storefront between an art supply shop and a charm shop. Billy hadn't been up to this end of the neighborhood much. Frank mentioned that his dad had done some work on the building the previous year to get it ready to be a new restaurant that never started.

Billy asked, "What kind of restaurant?"

"My dad said it was going to be a 'hipster soup' place."

"What does 'hipster' mean anyway?"

"It's like expensive and fancy but weird."

"Huh," Billy said.

Inside, the shop was crammed with rows and rows of overflowing clothing racks. A lot of the stuff was cheap and looked terrible, but some of it was nice. And of course, the nice stuff was pricy. They were mostly there to look around, since neither of them had enough money to buy an entire ready-made costume, especially not a good one.

Billy tried on hats. He liked a black cowboy hat but it cost too much. Frank said, "We could go to the thrift store over on Howard Street. A lot of people go there to get costume stuff."

That sounded good to Billy. He angled the hat on his head, trying to look cool, then took it off. They wandered around the aisles for a while longer, checking out the fake blood, body paint and glitter, make-up, props, and wigs. Frank put on a giant red clown nose and when Billy poked it, he honked. Billy put a dog mask over his face and howled. The clerk at the register gave them a dirty look.

Once they'd seen everything they wanted to see, he and Frank left. The day was nice, sunny and not too cold. Billy stepped on dry leaves, making them crunch against the sidewalk. He paused to look in the window of the charm shop, wondering if Frank's aunt's store had been like this. The price tags caught his eye. The cheapest item on display, a disc that wasn't any fancier than his amulet but was labeled "95% Pure Silver," was $150.

He still hadn't told anyone at Ray of Hope that his state-issued charm wasn't working. While he was there, Billy had continued wearing his old necklace like normal, keeping the one Aunt Sofia had given him hidden under his shirt. As soon as Ms. Carmichael saw the gun charm, he'd have to explain how he got it. Then he'd get a replacement amulet and have to give it back. He wanted to delay that as long as possible.

When he was at school and out and about with Frank, Billy switched the two, proudly displaying the gun charm. It had gotten a lot of admiration from his classmates, although one of the teachers said he didn't think charms in the form of weapons were appropriate for children. Frank and Billy had rolled their eyes at each other when the man turned his back.

Changing charms twice a day made Billy feel like he was two boys living two lives: his life at the group home, where he was a kid whose mother ditched him at a fire station, and his life with Frank, where he was a kid a woman would give a charm worth several hundred dollars to just because she was worried about his safety. He didn't want his lives, his identities, to collide because he knew he would lose the better one.

He was still looking at the charms, lost in thought, when a familiar voice called, "Billy!"

His spine went rigid. That was Vincent. 

Billy almost ran. But that wouldn't have done any good. He'd already been spotted. Slowly, he turned in the direction of the voice and saw Vincent standing in front of the art supply shop. _Of course_ Vincent would come here. 

He should have been paying attention. But things had been going so well lately that he'd gotten sloppy. As soon as they came to this street, he should have recognized the danger, however remote, and come up with an excuse to get away. 

The places he went with Frank -- school, the park, Frank's house, this freaking costume shop -- felt like they were in an entirely different world from the group home but they weren't. They weren't even that far away from each other. You could walk between all of them.

He should have expected that he'd run into someone eventually. And of course, it had to be the one kid from Ray of Hope who would go out of his way to talk to Billy if they met.

Vincent approached, a large white bag in one hand. Frank looked at him with curiosity.

Maybe Billy could salvage this situation. "Hey, Vincent," he said. He tried to smile but it didn't really come out. "What are you doing here?"

Vincent was oblivious to the accusatory tone of the question. "I bought some new markers," he said cheerfully.

Frank asked, "You draw?"

 _Damn it_. Billy had been hoping to get Frank out of there before he talked to Vincent. Frank was just too friendly sometimes.

"Yeah." Vincent's face lit up like it always did when someone asked about his art. He opened the bag and pulled out his familiar, slightly battered sketchpad. "Want to see?"

Billy began quickly, "We really have to go--"

"Sure," Frank said at the same time. He glanced at Billy. "Something wrong?"

There was, but Billy couldn't explain it. "No," he said. "Just Vincent always wants you to look through his entire freaking sketchbook when he shows you something. We'll be here all afternoon."

Vincent chuckled. "Sorry about that. I get carried away. I'll just show you like two things, I promise."

He flipped through pages until he found the one he wanted. Frank came in closer, peering, and said, "That's pretty good."

"Thanks. Oh, let me show you my motorcycle pictures," Vincent said.

By now, Billy's heart was racing. He tried to think of a way to get Frank away from Vincent that didn't involve physical violence but came up blank.

Frank said, "That's a lot of motorcycles. Is that Darkwing Duck on a Harley?"

"Yes!"

Trying to calm down, Billy took deep breaths. Maybe if Vincent kept talking about his stupid drawings, them living together at the group home wouldn't come up. 

But then of course, Frank asked, "You and Billy are friends?"

Billy opened his mouth but nothing came out. The one time he really, really needed to come up with some good bullshit, he failed. The stakes were so high, he just froze. 

"We live together," Vincent answered.

Frank raised his eyebrows. "Are you related?" 

Billy could hear the unspoken comment: _You didn't tell me you had a cousin or brother or whatever living with you_.

Vincent said casually, "Oh, no. We live at Ray of Hope."

Billy felt his face burn. Anxiety and shame enveloped him, drowning him. His throat tightened painfully, choking any words he might have said.

"What's that?" Frank asked.

"The group home over on Burgess Avenue."

Frank looked at Billy.

Billy's fear cracked and his anger exploded. He rounded on Vincent and said, his voice hard, " _Shut the fuck up_."

Vincent stared, shocked. "Billy--"

"Shut up! Just _shut up_! You fucking idiot. Why do you go around telling people that?"

Vincent sputtered. "It's the truth? Why would I not tell someone where we live?"

"Hi, I'm Vincent," Billy mocked. "I'm an orphan and a _fucking moron_. Look at my drawings." Billy hit the sketchpad, knocking it out of Vincent's hands. "I _really_ hate you."

Tears welled in Vincent's eyes.

"Bill, what are you _doing_?" Frank said. His face was a mix of shock and disapproval as if Billy had just kicked a puppy.

Billy couldn't stand Frank looking at him like that, like he was the bad guy. Frank didn't understand, would never understand. So Billy turned and ran. 

He kept going until he was several streets away, then stopped and leaned against a telephone pole. Tears had sprung up in his eyes. He kicked the wood, cursing. He had gotten caught and in the stupidest way possible. _Fuck_ Vincent. Billy should have punched him the second he got close and told Frank that Vincent was an asshole who bothered him. Frank would have been fine with that. Then Billy's secret would still be safe. But he let his guard down, let himself get distracted, and now everything was ruined.

"Billy?" 

He wiped his face and turned around. Frank was standing there. Billy hadn't even heard him approach. " _What?_ " he snapped.

For a second, Frank looked like he might just take off. But he asked, "Is it true? You live in that place-- what's it called?"

"Ray of Hope." Billy wiped his nose. "Stupid name."

"But that's where you live, not with your grandmother?"

Billy threw up his hands. "Yes! Okay? Yes. I live there." 

"Why did you lie?" 

"Why do you think, Frank?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."

The tears were coming again and he blinked rapidly, trying to stop them. "Because I'm a bad kid who has to live with all the other bad kids whose fucking parents don't want them! Okay? I lie. I steal things. I break shit. I hit people. That's why I live there."

For a second, Frank didn't say anything, just stood there looking startled. Then he asked, "Do you even have a grandmother?"

"I don't have _anybody_."

"So why'd you say you lived with her?" Frank's tone was maddeningly patient, like he could ask Billy dumb questions all day.

"How stupid are you, Frank?"

Anger finally seeped into Frank's words. "I guess I'm pretty stupid because I thought we were friends."

The past tense stabbed Billy in the gut. "We _were_."

"Friends don't lie to each other, Bill."

For a second, they looked at each other. Billy had the urge to jump on Frank and let all of his feelings out through his fists. Billy also had the urge to jump on Frank and hug him and apologize for everything as long as they could still be friends.

But Billy would never beg anyone for anything. He shook his head and said coldly, "You know what? We're _not_ friends. I don't need you. I don't need _anyone_."

Then he sprinted across the street.

Calling his name, Frank gave chase. But Billy was good at escaping from someone who was after him. He zigzagged through yards and alleys, hopped a couple of fences, and eventually lost Frank.

Once Billy was alone, he slowed to a walk. He should have known everything would blow up in his face eventually. But he couldn't resist the chance to be normal for a little while, to have a real friend, a real life. If he didn't think too hard, he could pretend he had a family when he was with Frank.

All of it was over now. Frank would tell his parents. His parents would tell Frank to stop seeing Billy. He squeezed the gun charm on the chain around his neck. He wouldn't even be able to keep this, a token of what he'd had and lost.

Soon, everyone at school would know. He'd have to start fighting again to keep people from messing with him. But he'd fight every single kid in school if it meant Frank would still be his best friend. Unfortunately, that wouldn't work.

He realized he'd walked a long way when he saw a street sign he didn't recognize. But another block up, he spotted one that he did. This was near where Arthur lived.

Billy paused. He'd lost Frank. But Arthur knew who and what he was and didn't care. The man was always telling him to come and talk about any problems he might have. Arthur always promised to help however he could.

There wasn't anything Arthur could actually do. And, Billy reminded himself, he didn't _need_ anyone. But right now, he would really _like_ having someone to talk to.

He turned in the direction of Arthur's house.


	8. The Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy discovers the truth about Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The attempted sexual assault, mind manipulation, and memory alteration tags apply to this chapter.

Billy rang the bell at Arthur's front door. He heard the dog bark but no one answered. Turning, he looked for Arthur's car among those parked on the street but didn't see it. That didn't mean Arthur wasn't home. Maybe he'd had to leave it where it wasn't visible from here.

Since Billy left the costume shop, the sky had clouded over and the wind had picked up, driving out the earlier warmth. He knocked a few times, then rang the bell again. When he peered in the living room window, he saw the gun charm hanging around his neck in his reflection. He shoved it back under his shirt, not wanting to look at a reminder of Frank and his family right now.

Standing around outside, waiting, the cold crept under Billy's thin jacket. He stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together. Of course, the one time he really needed-- _wanted_ to see Arthur, the man wasn't around. Billy should be used to this by now. Every time he let himself trust someone, let himself expect something, he got dumped like a piece of unwanted furniture on the side of the road.

He was about to leave when the door opened. "Billy?" Arthur smiled, a real smile, and Billy's anger melted away. "Have you been out here long?"

"Nah." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Now that Arthur was here, he felt like he might start crying again, which was stupid.

Arthur apologized for not answering the door sooner. He'd been out back fixing a hole in the roof of the tiny shed he had and it took him a few minutes to climb down and get through the house. "Needed to get that done before the snow starts," he said.

Entering the living room, Billy heard Baxter bark again from the backyard.

"Well," Arthur said, "I wasn't expecting you but I'm glad you dropped by. Are you hungry?"

Billy shook his head. 

Arthur looked at him. "Billy, are you okay?"

Tears welled in Billy's eyes and he blinked them back. "I did something bad," he said quietly.

"Oh, Billy." Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. "Come and sit."

Billy sat on the couch. Arthur got a glass of water and a box of tissues and put them on the coffee table. Then, sitting down next to Billy, he asked, "What happened?" 

He told Arthur about lying to Frank, about their fight. Tears were rolling down his face now and he couldn't stop them. "I ruined everything." He wiped his eyes furiously but they were still wet. "Frank's the only friend I ever had and I ruined everything."

For a few moments, Arthur didn't speak, just sat looking at him. Billy felt embarrassed having someone watch him cry and looked away. He took a drink of water.

Finally, Arthur said, "Billy, I don't mean this to sound condescending, I really don't, but you're so young, you think everything is the end of the world. You and Frank can patch things up." Arthur pulled out a tissue and pressed it into Billy's hand, then continued, "And even if you don't, you'll find other friends."

Billy blew his nose. He didn't think he'd ever find another friend like Frank. 

Arthur said, "Hey, I'm your friend, aren't I? You came here to talk to me about all this. That's what friends do, listen to your problems. Right?" When Billy didn't answer, Arthur touched his hand. "Right, Billy?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Exactly. And what's so special about this Frank Castle anyway?"

That was something Billy couldn't really explain. It sounded silly, but when he was with Frank, he just felt good.

Arthur patted the back of his hand. "You, Billy, can have all the friends you want. A boy like you, as pretty as you are, can have _anything_ you want."

The word _pretty_ snagged Billy's attention. He looked at Arthur.

_Billy stood on the street throwing a ball up into the air and catching it. He heard a rhythmic squeaking behind him and turned around. Mr. Johansson was rounding the corner, pulling his grocery cart. The old man stopped and stared at him. It was that weird, hungry stare that he didn't like._

Arthur was staring at him. 

Billy opened his mouth to say that he should go but the words were lost in a burst of dizziness.

"You're upset right now," Arthur said. Billy tried to pull away but the man gripped and held his hand. Smiling, Arthur continued, "But I think I know what will make you feel better. Let's forget all about this argument with Frank, hmm?"

In his head, Billy screamed _Don't touch me!_ It came out an unintelligible mumble. His vision blurred. He tried to focus on the glass of water on the table, which became a pivot that the room spun around.

Arthur's voice sounded far away. "You are _so_ pretty. I've seen a lot of boys but none of them was ever as pretty as you."

The couch tilted and fell away. He was floating in the middle of the room, furniture whirling around him. Had he fallen asleep? Was he in another one of those weird nightmares? He felt tired and cold. Why was it so hard to move? A voice was speaking but it was difficult to understand the words. What the hell was going on?

The voice was soothing. He may not understand what was happening, but the voice would take care of him. It wouldn't hurt him. It loved him. It just wanted him to love it back. Didn't Billy _want_ someone to love him?

Billy did, he really did. But there was something not right about the voice. If he could just think for a second, he'd know what it was. His thoughts scattered and blew around like leaves on the wind, evading his grasp. What was it? What was wrong?

Then there was a gunshot.

Billy was sure it was a gunshot and not a car backfiring, although he didn't know why. Warmth slowly spread around his chest. Was this blood? Had he been shot? Getting shot was supposed to hurt and this didn't.

The warmth spread up his throat to his head. Gradually, the spinning room slowed and stopped. His eyes focused and his brain turned back on, like switching on a TV.

Billy was lying limply against the back of the couch. Arthur sat next to him, much too close. The words breathed into Billy's ear were clear. "Come on, Billy. Let's play."

The hair on the back of Billy's neck stood up. He tried to get up, to get away, but his body wasn't cooperating. 

Another gunshot cracked in his ears. A wave of heat washed over him, radiating outward from his chest, down his arms and legs. Now, he understood what was happening. Arthur was trying to bewitch him. The gun charm, still hidden under his shirt, was reacting. And that reaction sounded like a bullet being fired.

Arthur didn't seem to hear the noise. He continued murmuring, "You're my favorite, you know that, Billy? It took me a while to get you to trust me but, oh, it was worth it."

Pins-and-needles prickled all over Billy. It was painful. But with the pain came energy, focus, strength. He had to get up, to get out of here. 

"I just wish you wouldn't fight me," Arthur said. He sounded like he was scolding Billy for refusing to eat dinner. "I'd prefer not to put you under like this, you know." He sighed. "I keep hoping you'll come around so we can enjoy ourselves together."

Arthur brushed his fingers along Billy's face. One single impulse, too raw to be a thought, burst through him.

RUN.

Billy jumped up. His knees almost buckled with the sudden effort. He put a hand on the arm of the couch to steady himself and scrambled away.

"Hey, hey, hey," Arthur said, surprised.

Billy bolted for the front door. He heard Arthur get up, heard, "Stop, Billy!" He kept going.

The door was in front of him, only a few feet away. Arthur's footsteps pounded behind him. 

He turned the doorknob. Locked. Hands shaking, Billy grabbed the bolt.

In the corner of his eye, Billy saw an arm extending, a hand reaching out. But the lock clicked and the door opened and Billy was through it. He took the stairs two at a time and hit the pavement running.

Behind him, Arthur shouted his name.

***

_Come on, Billy. Let's play._

Billy was still running. He had no idea where he was, parked cars and barking dogs and startled pedestrians a blur around him. He kept running until it felt like his heart and lungs would burst. 

_You are_ so _pretty. I've seen a lot of boys but none of them was ever as pretty as you._

He stopped, breathing hard and clutching a stitch in his side. He wanted to keep running but physically couldn't. 

_You're my favorite, you know that, Billy? It took me a while to get you to trust me but, oh, it was worth it._

He threw up in the middle of the sidewalk. A woman passing by said something he didn't understand. He quickly walked away, wiping his mouth. As long as he kept moving, he was getting further away from that house. If he kept going for the rest of his life, he might get far enough. 

_I keep hoping you'll come around so we can enjoy ourselves together._

_We could make a lot of money... I'm sure there's other dirty old men willing to pay..._

_Billy would probably like it._

He didn't. He didn't like any of it: not the old neighbor leering at him, not Paul trying to pimp him out, not Arthur whispering in his ear and touching his face.

_I just wish you wouldn't fight me._

He didn't remember fighting.

A flash of dizziness hit him and he stumbled. Had this happened before? Arthur's words replayed in his head. It was impossible. He'd _remember_. 

Sweat trickled down his back. He pulled out the two charms he was wearing. The gun charm was much hotter than it should be just from being against his skin. The spot where it had laid on his chest tingled a bit. So did his fingers when he touched it. 

The silver amulet was-- what was the word Sofia Castle had used? _Inert_. Useless. There were spells that could change someone's memories. He'd read about it.

Those times he'd stopped in Arthur's house after walking the dog...

Billy wracked his brain. He'd bring Baxter back, have a glass of water, talk to Arthur for a little while, and be on his way. He remembered sitting in the living room, chatting, but there were no details to any of the conversations. There was just a sense that, of course, that's what had happened. Why would he think otherwise? Everything was perfectly normal.

But under that sense of _everything's fine_ , there was nothing. Because those conversations hadn't happened. Instead of talking to Billy, Arthur had...

He swallowed a hard knot in this throat. What had Arthur done to him?

Unsteady on his feet, Billy sat down heavily on the stoop of a row house. Where was he? Squinting, he read the street signs on the corner. Frank's house was not too far away. A right at the next intersection, three blocks, then a left and another two blocks and he would be there. The impulse to run to Frank swelled inside him.

Billy prided himself on not needing constant comfort and reassurance like other kids did. But right now he needed help. He needed his friend. The problem was Frank wasn't his friend anymore.

He put his head in his hands. Even if they were still friends, what could Frank do? What could Frank's parents do? They weren't his family or his legal guardians. What would he tell them anyway? It wasn't like Arthur would admit any of it.

No one believed him when his foster-brothers dangled him over that railing. No one believed him when Paul took him to that house. No one would believe this either.

Billy had no proof. He didn't even have his own memories. So Arthur had called him pretty and suggested they play together. So what? The man could say he'd been talking about basketball or checkers or anything. Billy couldn't say he was wrong.

What if he misunderstood what Arthur was talking about? What if Arthur hadn't meant anything by what he said and Billy had freaked out over nothing?

Believing that was tempting. If nothing had happened, there was no pain, no fear, no shame. Billy could just go on living his life and not have to deal with any of this. The problem was he knew it wasn't true. The look on Arthur's face when he called Billy pretty...

 _A boy like you, as pretty as you are, can have_ anything _you want._

Bile rose in Billy's throat and he choked it down. But when the feeling that he would vomit again faded, a part of him almost laughed. Being "pretty" had only gotten him things he never wanted.

He _knew_. But it would be the word of a well-respected adult against the word of a kid with a reputation for lying. Well, Billy _was_ a liar. Now he was paying the price.

"Billy?"

He leaped off the stoop, ready to run again.

Frank was standing in front of him. "Bill, are you okay? I've been looking everywhere for you."

Why would Frank be looking for him? They weren't friends anymore. 

"You just ran off," Frank said. "I was worried."

Billy stared at Frank, his instinct to say something cutting and walk away, to salvage what little pride he had left. But Frank was looking at him with so much concern, he couldn't do it.

And he realized for the first time, when he needed someone, that person had come to him. Billy lost it. He crumpled, tears pouring down his face. 

Frank said something else but Billy didn't catch it. He felt a hand on his shoulder, heard Frank's voice close to his ear. "Come on, Bill."

Billy let Frank guide him down the street.


	9. The Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy seeks shelter at Frank's house, but danger finds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can guess from the title, there's a lot of blood in this chapter. Be advised of explicit violence, gore, and physical assault of a child.

Billy knew that Frank had walked him to the Castles' house and that he was currently sitting on the couch in their living room. But that awareness had a dim quality to it, like a TV show he was only half paying attention to.

He had cried for what seemed like a very long time. At some point, Frank put an arm around him and he rested his head on Frank's shoulder. It felt like this was the only thing keeping Billy from just sinking down into the ground and disappearing.

"Bill?"

He realized Frank had been talking but he hadn't been listening. "Yeah?"

"I said I'm sorry I got mad at you."

Billy looked at Frank, confused. Then he remembered the costume shop and Vincent and their fight. It felt like that had happened years ago but it was this afternoon. Before... 

He choked that memory off. When he was with Frank, he was fine. Thinking about _that_ would be like inviting a demon into the house.

Hesitantly, Frank went on. "Sometimes when I get mad, I scare people. I don't mean to. There's this thing that happens-- I don't always realize I'm doing it."

Now Billy was really confused. "I wasn't scared of you."

"You ran away," Frank said. 

"I..." Billy struggled to find the words. It was hard to recall what had been going on in that moment. At the time, he had been so upset. But now he would rather think about their fight, rather think about almost anything, than about what happened after. Finally, he said, "I thought we weren't friends anymore."

"Why?" Now Frank sounded confused.

"You said friends don't lie to each other."

"I was just mad you lied," Frank said. "I don't hate you or anything." 

"So we're still friends?" Billy needed to be absolutely clear. If the answer was no, the rest of him was going to collapse in a pile of rubble.

"Of course we are."

A lump rose in Billy's throat. How many times could he cry in one day? 

Frank asked, "Why didn't you just tell the truth?"

Clearing his throat was painful but Billy did it. "Everyone treats me differently when they find out," he said. "Like I'm--" the word _trash_ was on the tip of his tongue but he didn't want to say it, "not as good as they are."

"I don't think that, Bill." Frank sounded slightly offended. 

Billy wouldn't have believed that from most people but he believed it from Frank. Lying had been stupid from the start. If he hadn't lied, they wouldn't have argued. If they hadn't argued, he wouldn't have gone to Arthur's. And if he hadn't gone to Arthur's...

It hit Billy. Whatever he did or didn't do, _that_ would still have happened. The only thing that would have prevented it was not meeting Arthur at all. 

His brain raced down the track of what-ifs. If he hadn't come to Ray of Hope, if he hadn't been removed from his foster family, if he hadn't attacked his foster-brother and on and on, all the way back to Billy's mother not giving him up in the first place. Or if she hadn't had him in the first place...

His head throbbed. Billy wanted to go to sleep. He didn't want to think about waking up again.

"Billy?"

He'd missed something Frank said again. "Yeah?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you, Frank."

"All right." There was a pause. "Are you upset about something else?" When Billy didn't answer, Frank prompted, "It's just it seems like you're not okay. And if it's not me, then..."

Fear sliced through Billy's fatigue. He was very much _not_ okay and Frank wouldn't believe him if he tried to say he was. But he couldn't talk about _that_ , not now, maybe not ever.

The silence went on for a while. Then Frank said, "My mom's going to be home soon. You could talk to her. She'll know what to do."

In his head, Billy began, _I went to Arthur's house and he tried to_...

It was like running into a wall.

Billy pulled away from Frank and stood up. "I need to go," he said. Where he had no idea. He could wander the streets until he disappeared. Kids without families vanished all the time. Social services wouldn't look very hard for him.

Frank scrambled up from the couch. "What? Why?"

"I'm sorry I lied to you," Billy said, meaning it, then turned and headed for the door. 

At the entrance to the kitchen, Frank caught his hand. " _What_ is going on, Bill?"

He stopped, unable to muster the willpower to pull away. The desire to stay and the impulse to run battled inside him.

"I'm in trouble." It slipped out so quietly that he barely heard himself say it.

Frank came around to stand in front of him, still clutching his hand. "What kind of trouble?"

Billy shook his head. He had never seen Frank look scared before and it frightened him.

"Tell me. I can help. My parents can help."

"I don't think they can." Billy half-heartedly tried to pull out of Frank's grasp but his friend wasn't letting go.

"You are _really_ freaking me out here, Billy. You know that?"

"Just let me go, Frank."

"No. Not until you tell me what's going on with you."

Anger flared in Billy, the urge to fight Frank even though he knew he'd lose. Why couldn't this idiot just let him go when things got difficult like everyone else did? 

Frank took Billy's other hand. "I'm not letting you leave. The last time I did, I found you having some kind of-- breakdown," Frank said the word uncertainly, "in the middle of the street."

As quickly as it sprung up, the fight drained out of Billy. His shoulders slumped. "You wouldn't understand."

"I'll try to."

Before Billy could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. He flinched, dropping Frank's hands. Did Mrs. Castle forget her key?

There was another knock, then a familiar voice called, "Hello? Is anyone home?" 

Ice ran down Billy's spine. It was Arthur.

Billy whispered urgently, "Don't open it."

"Who-- ?" Frank began.

The knob turned. The door wasn't locked.

Arthur stepped into the house and said, "Billy! There you are."

Billy sucked in a panicked breath and put a hand on the doorframe to steady himself. Frank glanced between Arthur and him, then asked suspiciously, "Who's this?"

Arthur looked at Frank. Billy wanted to kill him for even doing that. The man smiled but it didn't remotely reach his eyes. "Oh, hello. Are you Billy's friend Frank?" His tone was light and easy, like they had all just run into each other on a sunny day in the park.

"Yeah," Frank said. "Who are you?"

"I'm Arthur Walsh. I volunteer at Billy's group home. I'm so sorry to barge in like this but everyone has been _so_ worried. We've been looking for him everywhere."

Arthur moved further into the kitchen. Billy tried to speak, tried to move, but he was frozen like in his nightmares. Only now he knew what had been after him all this time. He expected his charm go off again and when it didn't, he realized there wasn't any magic. Arthur's mere presence was making him sick.

Frank stepped in front of Arthur, blocking the man's progress, and said, "He's fine. He just came over to visit me."

"I see." Arthur had that tone adults got when they really didn't like a kid arguing with them. "But he shouldn't run off without telling anyone where he's going. I'm going to take him back now."

The last statement was made with casual authority that expected immediate obedience. Frank didn't move. 

Billy was hyperventilating. He'd brought this monster here. If Arthur hurt Frank-- he had to do something. But his head was swimming.

Arthur flashed a strained smile. "I need to bring Billy back, Frank."

Frank still didn't move. 

Arthur looked over Frank toward Billy. "Billy! If you're not back by dark, Ms. Carmichael is going to have the police start looking for you."

"There's no need to call the cops," Frank said.

"Oh, _I_ don't want to get Billy in trouble. But if he doesn't come back voluntarily, I'm afraid it's out of my hands."

"You know," Frank said, "my mom's going to be home from work soon. Why don't you sit and wait and then _if_ Billy wants to go back with you, he can."

Frowning, Arthur said, "Your mom will be home soon?"

"Yeah."

Arthur sighed. "Well, I didn't want to do it like this, but..." 

He grabbed Frank and shoved him, hard, into the kitchen counter.

Frank yelled, "Run, Bill!"

The words shattered Billy's fear, unlocking the rage. How dare this fucking asshole come here and hit _his_ friend? 

He tore through the house to Frank's bedroom, where a baseball bat sat behind the door. Picking it up, he doubled back. With every step, anger surged through his veins, giving him energy and purpose. It felt _good_. Billy wanted to fight more than he ever had in his life.

In the kitchen, Frank struggled with Arthur. As Billy barreled through the door, some instinct in him screamed DANGER. 

There was something in the room that wanted to maul, to kill. Billy had a flash of blood and death, not quite a vision, and a momentary urge to flee.

He kept going. There _was_ something dangerous here and he was going to bash its skull in. 

Billy charged, swinging high at Arthur's head. The man ducked and the bat hit his shoulder. He let go of Frank to defend himself and Frank dashed away. Billy reared back for another strike.

Arthur grabbed the handle of the bat above Billy's grip and twisted, wrenching it out of his hands. "You fucking psycho brat!"

Frank attacked Arthur from behind, pounding with his fists, but wasn't big enough to do damage. Arthur pushed Frank and sent him sprawling on the floor.

Billy threw himself at Arthur. The man tossed the bat and it rolled, clattering, across the tiles. He gripped Billy's left arm. Pulling Billy close, he twisted it with both hands.

A loud snap sounded in Billy's ears. Pain burst in his forearm. He screamed.

"After everything I've done for you, you hit me?"

Billy gasped and whimpered. Blood rushed in his ears; black spots clouded his vision. He started to fall but Arthur gripped his upper arm and shoulder, holding him up.

Arthur seized the chain hanging around Billy's neck and yanked the gun charm free. "Where did you get this? You steal it?"

Panting, Billy spat, "Fuck you."

The offended rage in Arthur's voice was clear even through the haze of pain. "When I'm done with you, you won't even remember your own name. And it'll be no loss to the world."

He wrenched Billy's shoulder and it exploded in pain. The room spun and then Billy couldn't see or hear anything. Did he scream again?

In the dark silence, Billy's thoughts were oddly calm. Arthur was going to break his mind just like he broke his arm. There was nothing Billy could do about it. Frank needed to run before it was too late.

Something hard hit Billy along his side and legs. It was the floor. A noise on the edge of his hearing triggered the same instinct he felt earlier: _danger, blood, death_. Slowly, his vision cleared and he looked up, squinting. The light was very bright like the sun shone from the ceiling.

Arthur stood, back toward him, facing Frank. Frank's mouth was open and Billy realized the noise was Frank screaming. 

For a second, he had the crazy idea that a wild animal had taken Frank's place.

Billy blinked, trying to clear his head. Seeing the two of them standing next to each other, Frank looked so small compared to Arthur. Leaning on his good arm, Billy struggled to get up. All he managed to do was move backward until he hit a cabinet door. He couldn't get the breath to shout at his idiot friend to _run_.

Frank charged Arthur. Time seemed to slow down. Billy stared, unable to look away.

When Frank hit Arthur, he knocked the man off his feet. The collision took down a chair at the end of the table. Frank crouched over Arthur's head and began pounding with his fists. It should have been easy for a grown man to shove a boy off of him, but he didn't do it.

Arthur shouted as Frank hit him again and again. Blood splattered, flecking the table and the walls and the refrigerator. Drops splashed Billy's face and he closed his eyes. Frank's fist falls sounded like banging on the floor with a hammer. A high-pitched wail made Billy shiver. He could barely make out the words. "Stop! Please! Stop!"

The only response was another animal scream. 

Billy sat perfectly still, eyes closed. Pain throbbed in his arm and shoulder. The warning of _danger_ nudged him to get out of there, but if he moved, he would pass out. 

Something wet touched Billy's feet. Opening his eyes, he looked down. Blood spread across the floor, soaking his sneakers. Seeing it made him smell it. Bile rushed up his throat so fast he couldn't stop it from spilling out onto his shirt. The pain in his shoulder sharpened with the sudden motion. 

Frank was still going. Cautiously, Billy looked over, keeping his eyes up, trying to block out his peripheral vision. Frank was drenched in blood like he'd gone swimming in it. Billy wondered if the fake blood the Halloween store sold looked like this. 

Arthur had stopped making noise and moving. Billy knew he was dead.

Suddenly, Frank grabbed Arthur's shoulders and shook him, growling. Was Frank going to start _eating_ the body?

Taking a deep breath, Billy said softly, "Frank." 

No response.

"Frank," he repeated, louder. "Frank, you can stop. He's dead."

Frank paused and then turned toward him, eyes huge and wild and shining. It felt like attracting the attention of a tiger just after a kill. _Danger. Blood. Death. Run._

Billy pushed the warning aside. Frank would never hurt him. "Frankie." It took all his concentration to keep his voice from shaking with pain. "It's okay. It's over." 

Slowly, Frank blinked several times, the eerie light going out of his eyes. He dropped Arthur's body like it was scorching hot. Confusion on his face, he looked down at it and then around the room.

Moving as little as possible, Billy held out his working hand. "It's okay. Come here."

His friend staggered up and away from the dead man and collapsed next to him. Frank's voice was raw and raspy. "He's dead."

"Yeah."

"I killed him."

"Yeah."

"I didn't..."

"It's okay," Billy said. "You're okay."

Arthur was dead. Frank had killed him. He had _killed_ a man to protect Billy.

Until this moment, Billy had never felt like anyone really loved him in his life. It was indescribable. It was _beautiful_.

Frank sagged against the cabinets and started to cry, tears tracking through the blood on his face. His shirt collar had been ripped open and Billy noticed that the skull charm was missing. Leaning into Frank, he murmured, "It's okay. I'm here and I'm not leaving you." He couldn't think of anything else to say.

Billy's arm and shoulder screamed in white-hot pain. If he went to sleep, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. His eyelids drooped and he forced them open. He was cold and slipping into a fog, but Billy had to stay awake. Mrs. Castle was coming and then the police. He had to explain that it wasn't Frank's fault. 

In his ear, Frank sobbed. Without thinking, Billy smeared blood on his own hand, slipped it into Frank's, and squeezed gently. "Look, Frankie. Blood brothers. Yeah?"

Frank glanced at their joined hands. "Yeah," he said softly.

Billy pressed his forehead against his brother's. "Forever."


	10. The Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the attack, Billy has a choice to make.

Billy woke up in the hospital alone.

Vague half-memories drifted through his mind: Mrs. Castle's pale face, Frank crying, blood _everywhere_ , on the walls, on Frank, on Billy's hands and clothes and shoes. There was a puddle of it on the floor as though it had rained blood. He remembered Arthur breaking his arm, remembered Arthur dying, but everything after was fuzzy. 

His left arm and shoulder were in a sling that kept him from moving them. The pain was dull and distant. He felt like he was floating a couple of inches off the bed. It didn't feel bad, just very strange.

Billy went back to sleep.

***

The next day, a social worker Billy had never seen before introduced herself, Ms. Diaz. She had a policewoman, Detective Hudson, with her.

For a few minutes, Billy considered telling them he killed Arthur. Frank had been unhappy about him lying before but surely if he lied to keep his friend out of trouble that would be okay. But it quickly became clear the detective already knew Frank did it. Billy had been too out of it to make the claim when it would have mattered. 

Still, there was one thing he could do. He could tell Detective Hudson what had happened at Arthur's house. Billy couldn't take the blame for Frank but he could make certain the police knew Frank only did it to protect him.

The pain medication made him feel sort of blurry. But a muffled panic spiked in him at the thought of telling anyone. Billy wasn't sure he _could_ do this. The only other person who knew was dead. Billy could keep it a secret. Surely the fact that Arthur attacked him and broke his arm was enough to keep Frank from being charged with murder. 

If Billy told one person, the knowledge would be out there. Anyone could find out. _Everyone_ might find out. Images of the story being all over the news, of his classmates at school talking about it, flashed before his eyes. Cold dread gripped him.

But what if the cops didn't believe Arthur had attacked him? What if they said, "Why would a nice upstanding man like this suddenly go crazy and break a kid's arm for no reason? It doesn't make any sense." They might still charge Frank with _murder_. Unless Billy told them the whole story.

What would _Frank_ think if he knew? Billy remembered the three high schoolers and how angry Frank had been at them for making fun of him. Afterward, neither he nor Frank ever said anything about it. If they could agree that this thing with Arthur was just another messed up random event and then ignore it, Billy could live with that. He would trust Frank.

As for everyone else, what was more important? What a bunch of people he didn't know or didn't care about thought of him or what happened to his best friend? Billy prided himself on being a tough kid. He could handle people talking shit, couldn't he?

Frank killed somebody for him. Billy could tell a story for his sake. That was the way to think about it, he realized, as just a story. He could _pretend_ it was something he made up to keep Frank out of trouble. That way he had control. He had power. It was all a clever trick. Lying was something Billy could do. He was _good_ at it. This time the story just happened to be true. 

The detective asked all kinds of questions about what had happened in the kitchen, about Arthur, about Frank, about Billy himself. When she asked if he had any idea why Arthur would attack him, his heartbeat sped up. But he answered, "Yes." 

In the back of his mind, Billy was afraid Detective Hudson wouldn't believe him. The moment he told her about Arthur's spell taking hold, about the things the man had said, it felt like stepping off a ledge without knowing if there was anything to break his fall. But she did believe him. She didn't freak out or get angry at him for anything. He was surprised at how relieved he felt. And not just because he knew it would help Frank.

When they were finished, Detective Hudson closed her notebook and put it in her bag. Before she got up, he cleared his throat and asked, "What's going to happen to Frank?"

Billy knew what would happen to him. He'd be sent to another group home.

She paused and looked at him, then said, "I don't know, Billy."

***

For the next few days, Billy would be in the hospital for tests and observation. The doctor who examined him was very concerned that exposure to mind-altering magic would cause "permanent effects." Apparently, this sort of enchantment was especially dangerous to children. Billy was more worried about his shoulder. Even with the drugs, he could feel the sharp edges of pain in it. 

He kept hoping Frank would visit or call or send a letter or _something_. But there was nothing. Billy swung between worrying that Frank was in jail and worrying that Frank didn't want to see him. Or that Frank's parents didn't want him to. Billy couldn't really blame them too much. It _was_ his fault their son was in trouble. If he hadn't gone to their house, Frank wouldn't have killed anyone.

As more time passed, the possibility that he would never see Frank again loomed larger in his mind. The gun charm sat on the stand next to his bed. (He wasn't allowed to wear it because it interfered with the tests.) Sometimes when he looked at it, he thought that _this_ was the only thing he had left. He didn't have a family or a home and now he didn't even have a best friend anymore.

Ms. Diaz told Billy about the new group home he would go to when he got out. She showed him pictures of kids playing basketball, kids watching TV, kids doing homework and eating dinner and posing for the camera with smiles. This place had in-house counselors. There was a photo of a boy sitting with a serious but friendly-looking woman in a room with a box of toys. They were presumably talking about something terrible that had happened to him.

On the wall behind the boy, Billy spotted a poster of a kitten with a panicked expression hanging off a branch. The caption read, "Hang in There." 

Billy laughed. Ms. Diaz looked at him oddly but he couldn't help it. _Hang in there_. 

What other choice did he have?

***

The day before Billy was supposed to be released, Ms. Diaz knocked on the half-open door to his room and said he had a visitor. It was Mrs. Castle.

"Hi, Billy," she said. She smiled and it looked like it was difficult for her. "Do you mind if I talk to you?"

He hadn't expected her to come on her own. The fear that she was here to tell him he'd never see Frank again gnawed at him. 

"Okay," he said, trying to steel himself for bad news. She'd at least be able to tell him if Frank was in jail. He'd attempted to watch the news or get a paper to see what was going on. But there was always someone with him when he was awake, usually the social worker or a nurse, and they wouldn't let him. (His opinion was that he had been there, so he should be able to see what everybody was saying about it.) Billy tried pretending to be asleep so they'd leave him alone. That didn't work because he actually fell asleep.

The two women sat down. Mrs. Castle cleared her throat and said, "Frank wanted to come with me but he had an appointment. And I wanted to make sure I saw you before they discharged you."

A thrill went through Billy. Frank _did_ want to see him! "Where is he?"

"He and his dad are with a specialist, someone who works with people who have his abilities."

In all of the chaos, Billy kind of forgot that an eleven-year-old beating a grown man to death was highly unusual. He asked, "What abilities?"

Mrs. Castle shifted in her chair, clasping her hands together. "You've heard of berserkers."

Billy sucked in a breath. That was one of the most dangerous forms of magic in the world. How could he have known Frank all this time and not realized Frank was one of _them_?

But it did explain things. The sense Billy had that Frank and his family were keeping a secret. The way the Castles reacted to the news report about the berserker massacre on the car radio. Frank casually breaking the nose of a teenager who was bigger than him. The look in Frank's eyes when he crouched over Arthur's body. 

Mrs. Castle explained that she and Frank and his dad (and his uncle and aunt) had known for a long time. This type of magic ran in her husband's family. So, in a way, the Castles did have a family curse. The skull charm wasn't to protect Frank but to protect other people _from_ him.

Frank had known what he was and hadn't told Billy. (Neither had Frank's parents, but he was used to adults not being honest with him.) Really, Billy was shocked rather than angry. After all, he hadn't told Frank he lived in a group home and that was way less serious than this. He felt they were basically even with each other in the lying department now.

"Is he going to prison?" Billy asked.

"No, he's not, sweetie." Billy balked at Mrs. Castle calling him 'sweetie' but she didn't seem to notice. She continued, "Frank did what he did to save you. So the District Attorney's not filing any charges."

Billy exhaled in relief. Talking to Detective Hudson had been worth it. Frank would be okay.

Mrs. Castle explained that Frank would have to attend training to learn how to control himself even without charms. That was the point of the specialist, to determine how much training he needed. "And if that goes well," she said, "he'll be enrolled in a program for young people who have talents that are useful to the military." She didn't sound happy about that at all.

He asked, "Frank's joining the Army?"

"Not really. Not yet." Mrs. Castle tried to smile but didn't succeed.

So Frank wasn't going to prison. They were just making him enlist. "I'm sorry," Billy said.

"This isn't your fault, Billy. What that man did, it's not _your_ fault."

He appreciated her saying that, but he didn't entirely believe it.

Ms. Diaz spoke up. "Berserkers usually end up in the military anyway, if they can control their powers. If Frank goes into the program now, he'll be better prepared for service later."

That comment didn't seem to reassure Frank's mother any. Mrs. Castle wiped the corners of her eyes. "I just wish you'd told us the truth from the beginning. It really hurt Frank's feelings that you lied to him and to us."

Billy knew that. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"And we need to be able to trust each other, all of us, especially now," she said. "Do you understand?"

He nodded. It sounded like Frank's parents were okay with them still being friends. If Mrs. Castle was going to tell him to never speak to her son again, she wouldn't care about _trusting_ Billy.

"Frank loves you like a brother, you know." After all his recent doubts, hearing someone say that hit Billy right in the chest. She went on, "And none of us think any less of you because of where you live. You don't have to hide things from us."

"Okay." This was going better than he'd hoped for. Nobody hated him. Frank would come to see him soon. Billy could deal with living in another group home as long as he knew he had Frank. It would be like Juan having grandparents outside. Billy had a brother who loved him but didn't live with him.

Mrs. Castle cleared her throat again. "Well, I should get to what I came here to ask you. Billy, do you want to come and live with us?"

Billy sat upright in his bed and looked from one woman to the other. Was this a joke? A trick? Some kind of test?

Ms. Diaz said in a cautioning tone, "You wouldn't be able to live with the Castles right away, Billy. They need to go through the process of becoming foster parents first. That can take months."

"But we wanted to ask you first if you would want that," Mrs. Castle said.

"For how long?" Billy asked. 

"As long as you want."

He couldn't help asking, "Why?"

Mrs. Castle looked slightly confused. "Frank asked if you could live with us. We talked about it. And we think it would be good for both of you."

That explained it. Frank's parents wanted Billy to help keep Frank and his newly awakened, dangerous magic stable. He was useful to them, so they were inviting him into their home.

Ultimately, Billy didn't care what their reasons were. Frank wanted him to stay. That was all that mattered.

Ms. Diaz asked, "Billy, do you want to live with the Castles?"

No one had ever offered him a choice like this. He didn't get to choose where he lived or where he went to school or what he ate or the clothes he had. Everything was decided by adults, and not even by his parents, but by social services. Most of them didn't care about him. If they did, it was in an impersonal way as another body they had to keep fed and clothed and housed. None of them really _knew_ him.

Billy may have never had to make a choice like this before but it was easy. He smiled, really feeling it inside. "Yes. I do."

Mrs. Castle nodded. For the first time this visit, she actually smiled herself. "Good. And, please, Billy, call me Lou."


	11. The Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy is reunited with Frank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been reading! And for the kudos and comments, I appreciate them! 😀

Two weeks into December, Billy went back to Poughkeepsie with the Castles. 

It hadn't snowed yet, but the brightly colored leaves were gone. Signs along the highway advertised holiday concerts, gift and craft markets, and light shows. Billy saw several vehicles with Christmas trees strapped to the roof. It felt like he'd been here during the autumn of the previous year instead of two-and-a-half months ago.

He stretched, pressing his upper back against his seat. It felt good to move his shoulder freely, although it was still sore sometimes. Just a few days ago, he'd finally stopped wearing a sling. His arm healed without any problems but the tears in his rotator cuff had required an operation. Currently, there was a long scar on his shoulder that looked raw and angry. The doctor assured him that it would fade.

The day of the surgery, Frank and his mother had been there. He even got a get-well card from Rocky and Sofia. Before Billy had been nervous and it helped to have Mrs. Castle -- Lou, he had to remind himself, short for Louisa -- to talk to about it. As a nurse, she knew what she was talking about, too, and didn't just say, "Oh, of course, everything will be fine," to shut him up. 

Every weekend, he saw Frank. Sometimes he went to Frank's house. Sometimes Frank came up to the Bronx, where Billy was living now, with one or both parents. The new group home kept much more careful track of everyone so the two of them couldn't just go off on their own for hours like they used to. These days, there was always an adult around when he was with Frank, which was annoying, but it was better than not seeing him at all.

But Billy had gotten permission to spend the weekend with the Castles. He wondered if this trip was a test. Mario and Lou (it was still weird to think of Frank's parents that way) tried to stay positive but their application to become foster parents had been denied. And he knew why, although no one ever said it directly to him. There were concerns about whether Frank would be a danger to Billy.

The whole situation was incredibly stupid. Social Services had put Billy in a home where a guy like Arthur volunteered and _now_ they worried about his safety. 

The Castles hadn't given up. They'd hired a lawyer to appeal the decision. After New Year's, there would be a hearing. But even if they got approved this time, the classes necessary for certification would take months. Billy also thought that was stupid. They already _had_ a kid. Parenting wasn't totally new to them. 

He appreciated the effort but he was still surprised at how much work they were doing for _him_. Sometimes Billy fantasized about moving in with them and finally having a real home but he was afraid to get his hopes up too much. Other times, when he was feeling down, he would imagine their application being rejected again and them slowly losing interest in him. Frank would start missing visits and then stop visiting altogether. 

Billy was trying to be patient while waiting for the hearing that would decide his fate but it wasn't easy.

***

This time, everyone was spending the night at Rocky and Sofia's house.

Uncle Rocky had made several pies ahead of time, which was good because they ate an entire lemon meringue after lunch. (It was tasty but Billy preferred the apple.) "You people are gluttons," Rocky said accusingly while looking at the empty pie pan.

Mario scraped crumbs off his plate with a fork and said, "Just keep the pies coming, Brother."

Rocky said, "From now on, _everything_ I make is going to be a pie. When you come for the Fourth of July, I'll make a hot dog and potato salad pie."

Frank and his mother made disgusted faces. Billy laughed. 

"Don't you _dare_ ," Sofia said. "I will not have that in my house."

Mario shrugged. "Honestly, I'd probably eat it."

Afterward, Billy and Frank went out to the backyard. The trees that had been full of apples last time were now bare. They climbed one. From here, Billy could see all around the neighborhood. The closest house had an aboveground pool, now covered for the winter. However, it was too cold to stay in the tree for long. They played tag for a while, which kept them warm but also made them thirsty so eventually, they went back inside for a drink.

On the refrigerator, Billy noticed a photo that surprised him. In the middle of all the family pictures -- of Frank's cousins, Frank and parents, other people Billy didn't recognize -- was one with _him_.

"Look," Billy said, pointing. It was him and Frank in the back of the Castles' car, asleep, from the drive home after the previous trip. Frank had his mouth wide open.

"They always have to put up photos of me looking stupid," Frank said, frowning.

"It's not their fault," Billy said. "You _always_ look stupid, Frankie." He laughed when Frank punched him in the arm.

Billy stood in front of the fridge looking at the picture while he drank orange juice. Maybe it was a sign that he would get to live with Frank. But even if he didn't, this photo would still be here with all the others of people who _belonged_ in this house, in this family. Frank's cousins didn't live here anymore -- the people in the old pictures in the hallway didn't live here anymore -- but this was, in a way, still their home. None of the Castles would forget them. And none of the Castles would forget Billy.

That made him happy.

***

Dinner was followed by an entire cranberry-apple pie (which was also tasty, but the plain apple was still Billy's favorite). Then everyone settled in the living room to watch a movie, _I Was a Teenage Santa Claus_ , about a high school boy who messes around with magic and accidentally turns himself into Santa.

At bedtime, Billy and Frank went upstairs to the room they were sharing. It had a double bed so there was plenty of space for both of them. For a while, they sat propped against the pillows reading old issues of _The Charming Detectives_ comic, about a group of police officers who specialize in solving magically committed crimes, that belonged to Frank's cousins. Then Mario poked his head in and told them it was time to turn the lights off.

Billy lay awake for a while. Outside, the wind blew through the tree branches. Downstairs, the adults were still up. He heard the faint murmur of conversation and had the urge to sneak out and listen to it.

Frank hadn't fallen asleep either. Eventually, he said quietly, "The hearing about whether you can live with us is in a month."

"Yeah." It was in 27 days. Billy had been counting.

A long pause, and then Frank asked, "You're not afraid of me, are you, Billy?"

"Of course not," he replied. "Why would you think that?"

In the dark, Billy could barely see anything but he felt Frank shift on the mattress. "Social Services thinks I'm dangerous. That's why they won't let my parents foster you," Frank said.

"Social Services has a ton of rules. Half of them are stupid. Believe me, I've been dealing with them for years," Billy said. "Don't take it personally."

"But you're not-- worried about living with me?"

"No." Billy said it as authoritatively as he could to ease Frank's mind.

"Why not?"

Billy had never seen Frank this anxious about anything. It was worrying. "You're my friend."

"But you know what I can do."

"I know."

Frank said softly, "I killed a man, Bill. Like that guy in Georgia."

"No," Billy said a little too loudly, then dropped his voice back to a whisper. "It wasn't like that at all." How could Frank even think it was the same? That man killed strangers, people who never hurt him. Frank killed someone who did horrible things. Billy continued, "Arthur deserved what happened to him."

"What I did to him."

" _I_ would've killed him if I could have."

For a while, neither of them spoke. Then Frank said, "My parents said Arthur did really bad things. Besides hurting your shoulder, I mean. And to other kids, too."

Billy took a sharp breath. Until now, neither of them said anything about what happened that day to each other. He really did _not_ want to talk about this with Frank. Talking with the psychologist was painful enough. It helped to think of those sessions like the operation on his shoulder. The surgery had been difficult but fixed him physically. He hoped the counseling would do the same for his mind or feelings or whatever you called it, on the inside. But being with Frank was the only time he felt sort of normal again. He didn't want to ruin that.

Frank continued, "They wouldn't tell me what he did though. The news said he abused kids where you were and at the school he worked at."

Once Billy was out of the hospital, he'd heard the same thing. He did finally watch some of the news reports and read some of the papers. It was weird seeing other people, people he didn't even know, talk about something that happened to him even if no one mentioned his name, almost like an out-of-body experience.

Another pause followed by another quiet question from Frank. "Did he do that to you?"

Billy's mouth went dry. How could he answer this without lying again? Did Frank even know what words like "abuse" and "molestation" _really_ meant?

 _You are_ so _pretty. I've seen a lot of boys but none of them was ever as pretty as you._

Shuddering, Billy pushed Arthur's voice out of his head. Frank _shouldn't_ know, shouldn't have to even think about something like this. Billy wished he himself didn't have to. He felt a gulf open up between them, running right down the middle of the bed. And he hated that. Tears welled up and he squeezed his eyes shut, glad it was dark so Frank couldn't see.

Eventually, Frank said, "Bill?"

"Don't feel bad about killing that asshole, Frank, _please_."

"I don't."

"Good."

"But that's a problem."

Billy wiped and opened his eyes. "How is it a problem?" 

"I killed a man, Bill. And what's bothering me isn't that I did it so much as that I felt _good_ doing it."

"So what?"

" _So what?_ " Frank sounded shocked.

"So what if you did?" 

"Murderers enjoy killing people. You think I want to be a murderer?"

Billy leaned closer to his friend. "You're special, Frank. You can do things other people can't. You shouldn't worry about what everyone else thinks."

Frank said, "I'm worried about what _I_ think. How I'm going to live with myself if..."

"You're afraid you're going to be like that guy in Georgia?" Billy's voice came out fierce. "You could never be like that. I was there, right next to you. You could have killed me. You didn't."

"Did you think I would have?"

Billy shook his head. " _Never_. You're not out of control, Frank. You're not going to hurt anybody who doesn't deserve it."

"Who decides if they deserve it? Me?"

" _They_ do. Arthur decided he deserved it the first time he hurt a kid he was supposed to take care of." Billy swallowed so he wouldn't say anything he shouldn't, then added, "You just did what needed to be done."

"You know what they call people like me some places?"

"What?"

"Punishers. Because before there were police, it was our job to find and punish people who did bad things."

"Someone has to do it."

Frank shifted around on the bed again. "You know what else they call people like me? Monsters."

"You're _not_ a monster." Arthur had been a monster.

"You're really not afraid of me," Frank whispered.

" _You're_ not dangerous, Frank. It's just your magic."

Frank made a skeptical sounding noise.

Billy asked, "And we're best friends, right?"

"Brothers," Frank corrected.

"Well, brothers don't hurt each other. Not for real, anyway."

"No, they don't." 

"That night," Billy said, "I witnessed a miracle. It was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. _You_ are the most amazing thing I have ever seen." He reached out and found Frank's shoulder in the dark. "You have a gift."

"Some gift."

"I'd take it in a heartbeat."

" _You're_ crazy." Frank almost laughed.

"Not any more than you." Smiling, Billy squeezed his shoulder. "I'm serious. You saved me. You didn't just kill Arthur, you saved me. And--," he took a breath, "I love you, Frankie. I never had _any_ family before. And now you're my brother."

"I love you too, Bill." 

Frank said it so easily and so honestly. Billy's heart jumped in his chest.

Since they were talking about uncomfortable things, Billy asked, "Are you really going to join the Army?"

"I think I have to."

"Do you _want_ to?"

"I don't know." Frank sighed. "People like me, they do well in the military. At least that's what everyone says. Anyway, I don't have to join the Army, specifically. I could join the Marines."

"What about the Air Force?"

"They said my 'talents' don't really fit the Air Force."

Billy made a decision. "I'll join with you."

"You don't have to."

"I _want_ to." It wasn't like Billy had other plans.

Frank still sounded like he didn't think this was a good idea. "It'll be a long, long time before I actually join. Like after high school."

"I'm not going to change my mind." They were both quiet for a little while. Then Billy added, "Frank, you won't have to go through anything alone. I'll be there."

"I'll be there for you too, Bill."

Billy scooted closer and pressed his forehead against Frank's. He suddenly remembered doing this in the kitchen that day when they were both covered in blood. Strange that he'd forgotten until this minute. But he felt the same way, then and now. "Brothers forever," he whispered.

Frank hugged him. "Forever."


End file.
